


Just the Shadow

by FirenzeSun



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Dry Humping, First Kiss, Frottage, Hospitals, I'll add more tags as the story progresses, M/M, OT3, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Stoic Philosophy, Torture, but because it's me there'll be angst, professor!Flint, references to Greek mythology, salmons are also a thing apparently, the idea is that this is supposed to be a They Are Happy AU, writer!Silver
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirenzeSun/pseuds/FirenzeSun
Summary: Here's the thing about fate, you can't escape it.Flint is a professor with no hope and Silver is the annoying new neighbour. What happens when they discover that this is the chance the universe has given them to right their wrongs, to be happy? Can they really keep the story from repeating itself? ----This is an Everybody Lives AU in a modern setting that deals with the ideas of second chances, reincarnation and fate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first the thanks are in order. Firts I want to thank [ashwinchester4](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ashriddle4/pseuds/ashwinchester4) because she was the one who pushed me and gave me the courage to actually write this after the conversation where I told her one of my many fic ideas. Also I want to thank [wildflower182](http://wildflower182.tumblr.com/) because she helped me with some of the more tiring details of the plot.  
> Like I tried to say in the summary, this is my take at the "what if they have the chance to be happy?" idea. Because it's me there'll be angst along the way, hey, this is a nobody dies AU okay, and that's like the opposite of me.  
> I don't know what else to say, I'm nervous.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Accept the things to which fate binds you,_   
>  _and love the people with whom fate brings you together,_   
>  _but do so with all your heart."_
> 
> _\- Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

When his cellphone woke him up this morning Flint was not thankful. He never was, but this time he had stayed up almost all night working in front of his computer and he hadn't for near enough sleep. So Flint prepared his coffee extra strong this morning. A sip of it and his mood improved a bit. Another sip and his mood went three squares backwards when he remembered it was a Tuesday. Tuesdays meant he had to face Singleton, the stupid Associate Professor who was an ignorant brute who wanted his position as Professor. Not that there was a chance of it happening. Despite Singleton's attempts to sabotage him, his lack of knowledge on Stoic Philosophy was obvious. Flint didn't have to worry about him.

Coffee finished, and with some good minutes to spare, he grabbed his leather coat with elbow patches. Yes, he used a leather coat and had his ginger hair in a bun but he still used elbow patches. He could only break so many stereotypes about how a professor was supposed to look like. He hadn't even opened the door of his flat, when he heard the voices of his next door neighbours arguing. There went his chances of a quick escape through the building without annoying social interactions.

"I've told you this was only temporary," he heard Billy said.

Billy was the manager's kid, though kid at this point was somehow of a misconception, given that he was a 23-year-old muscular and tall young man. Mr. Gates, the manager, had founded him at the building doorstep's when he was 13, the connection they had had, though it had taken some time to be established, had become profound. So nobody was startled when the adoption became official, specially as most of the building had also sort of adopted Billy too. Muldoon from the fifth made sure that Billy got private lessons to compensate for his lack of schooling, Joji from the fourth would teach him personal defence, DeGroot from the second made sure that Gates had all the papers for Gates to legally adopt him and Randall from the third would read Billy stories and offer him all kinds of exotic and delicious desserts.

Well, that was before Randall had his accident. "I don't like him," Randall now said pouting.

Billy had a bag over his shoulders, clearly taking back with him whatever belongings he had brought with him to Randall's place in the last few months. "I'm still going to be on the first floor with dad. Anything you need I'll be there, okay?" Billy said with condescending patience, but Randall's grunt showed he still wasn't convinced. "You'll be better with this new guy, okay? He has good references, he'll know how to take care of you."

"I don't like him," Randall said, that was all the explanation he was going to give. It was more than enough for him to express his thoughts on the matter. The fact that others always wanted more explanations was exhasperating.

"Just give him a chance, will you?" Billy begged.

"I don't like him."

Billy sighed, Randall had always been reluctant to change, so he dismissed his opinion. Looking at the time Billy spoke. "You'll miss Ramsay's show. Go and watch it and I'll be back in a while," he said motioning to the turned on TV that could be seen from the open door.

Reluctantly, knowing that Billy wouldn't hear him, he went to the sofa to watch his show.

"You finally managed to find someone?" Flint asked Billy once he had closed the door.

"Yeah, he doesn't convince me entirely and Randall doesn't like him, but I think dad will die if he has to go through one more interview. He's okay, I guess," Billy told him as they walked to the elevator.

Flint snorted in agreement, but the sound was drowned by the beeping of the elevator reaching their floor. Flint noticed it, but did nothing to clarify it, unperturbed by the thought that Billy may have not listened. Silence between them was not an uncommon thing, after all. Billy had never really liked Flint. As a kid, he had always been intimidated by his brooding presence. Growing up, he learned to not fear Flint anymore, but some lingering uneasiness had remained. It probably was that Flint's personality resembled too much of those who had treated Billy as dirt from the shoe before Gates welcomed him in. And though Flint had never done nothing to exactly warrant Billy's dislike animosity, the feeling persisted.

Flint, of course, noticed this, but did nothing to change. It wasn't that he didn't had certain fondness for Gates' kid. After all, it was his best friend's kid and he had watched him grow over the years. He would gladly kill anyone who dared to hurt him, not that anyone would dare anymore. However, he wasn't eager to make it into anyone good graces, and whether Billy liked him or not was of no relevance to him. Besides, Flint had to admit that he liked quite a bit being feared.

The elevator beeped again signalizing the ride over. Flint had gotten out and was hoping to leave the building with no more distractions when a voice came from Gate's open door.

"Come here, stranger, meet your new neighbour!" Gates said with open arms from the door frame. He was a man with an easy smile and a calculating wit, his fatness and profession made many people overestimate his intellect and talk down to him. Not all of these people learned about their mistakes, as many of them tended to end too dumbstruck to ever see what hit them, plus they also tended to find themselves under the claws of _The Walrus_ building residents who tended to function as an extremely loyal if not dysfunctional family.

Flint tried to hid his indignation of being subject to more social interaction, but Gates was his best friend so of course he could see right through it. Of course, being his best friend, he didn't gave two rat asses about Flint's indignation. They were good friends like that.

Stepping under the door frame, after Gates had moved aside, Flint saw a baby-faced yet handsome man getting up to greet him. His face was framed by black locks of long hair and his blue eyes were penetrating and carried a calculating glint. "Hello, my name is John Silver and I happen to be a very good caretaker," the man said extending his hand.

Flint was not impressed. He saw the spark of interest in Silver's eyes, but he also noticed the cocky attitude. The attitude of a man who was used to make others give him what he wanted, obtaining it by his good looks or some other ill ways. Not that Flint was adverse to taking up the offer of a handsome man every once in a while, but if there was a major turn off for Flint was people who thought they could put people under their thumb just by sweet-talking to them, as if the world had to be handed in a silver platter to them.

"James Flint, pleasure," he said rudely, not taking up Silver's extended hand. He turned to Gates, "I'll be late."

With no goodbye of any kind he turned around and left the building thinking that he would need more coffee if he had to deal every morning now with this new neighbour.

.

"Well, that was Flint to you, you'll get used to him," Gates said to Silver. "He likes to bark, but he doesn't bite."

" _Maybe I can change that,_ " Silver thought. He had taken an interest in Flint almost right away, it wasn't just that he was attractive, which he was, but that seemed to carry up layers of mystery that he couldn't help but want to unravel. Or at least, try to see if by unravelling he could benefit from it in some way. Silver tended to flirt easily, or as he liked to call it, plant seeds. A smile here and there in the right place tended to open many doors to him. He had also, sometimes, made the wrong move on the wrong person and it had put him in trouble, but nothing from which he couldn't get himself out of it unscratched. He had tried hitting on Billy but he had seen that it was a lost cause, he had not picked any sexual vibes with him.

But, oh, Flint was an entire different thing. He had practically smelled the vibes of sexual tension the man had emitted when he saw him. He wasn't stupid, he knew it was hidden under layers of animosity and aloofness, and he would have to work hard. But the fruits of what he could get if he managed the man to open up to him -or if he himself had to be the one doing the opening, he was not adverse to it either way- seemed worth the work. At least, he would get a good fuck out of it, he was sure.

"It's okay," he said, "it doesn't bother me. He'll warm up to me, after all, I'm a hard man not to like."

"I hope that works as well with Randall," Gates said. "Billy can't look after him anymore, and if things don't work out with you..." he trailed off, "well, let's just hope we don't have to go down that road."

After Randall's accident the whole Walrus building had come out together in his help. Dr. Howell had stayed days with almost no sleep next to Randall's bed making sure that he got the best attention possible. As Randall had no family, he would have ended up in a state asylum if he hadn't been for DeGroot and Gates. Gates then became his legal guardian, and the entire building came together to help pay the hospital bills, and each month they would gather money to pay the rent.

That was the thing about the Walrus building, somehow it had attracted people with no family, with nowhere else to go. The owners' and renters' meetings had turned slowly into family gatherings. They still fought about petty things, like Muldoon blamed Joji for the damp stains in his roof, and Joji would call him a Welsh drunk, which then lead to Dooley, Joji's roommate, having to stop the fight. While Dooley would complain about Wayne, his next-door neighbour, making noises at night, though everyone knew it was because he had a school-boy crush on him and was to chicken-shit to do anything about it. But that was the thing, they were like family and they had their plaits, but they were a close-knit community and they had each other's backs. So Randall was no exception.

But there were limits to what they could do. Neither of them had that much money and most of them had demanding jobs. If they didn't get someone at a relatively cheap price to take care of Randall they might have to send him to an asylum, which given what they could afford it would be no good for Randall. As it was they were all hoping for the best.

Gates helped Silver with his bags to the third floor. He opened the door and then turned to Silver with the keys on high.

"These are your keys now," he said. Gates stepped into the flat with a sigh, "Randall, here's your new friend."

Randall glanced over to where Silver was standing and grunted. "I don't need him," he said, but as often, he was ignored.

"I'll leave the both of you together so you can get to know each other," Gates said to Randall. "I'll check on you before dinner, okay?" Silver did not miss that even though the words were spoken to Randall, they were actually meant for him. The door closed and the click echoed as some ominous sign, as if it was signalising Silver's entrance to a path he wouldn't be able to walk away from.

Silver chastised himself. _You're not writing,_ he said, _stop being stupid._

"So-" Silver begun but he was interrupted by Randall.

"I don't need you," he said looking at him with anger.

"Oh, I beg to differ. You need me." Silver said, a spark of clever mischief in his blue eyes. "And I need the job. I think we can come to an agreement."

"I don't need you," Randall repeated even more pissed off. It was so easy what he was saying, why couldn't other people understand.

"Without me you'll end up in an asylum, rotten and forgotten. They'll probably stuff you with drugs until you are little more than a vegetable and you'll have no say in the matter. I _really_ doubt that you want that. Without you I'll end on the streets again, no job, no food. Clearly the alternative is negative for the both of us. Now, what do you say if I give you the space you clearly want, I won't be perching over your shoulder every step you take, you _will_ have a say in what you want and what you don't want, and when Mr. Gates comes to ask how everything is, you'll say something nice."

Randall looked at Silver for a solid two minutes.

Silver was starting to get slightly nervous, "Do you really wanna end up in an asylum?"

Randall grunted and went back to his sofa to continue watching Ramsay's show. Silver sighed, he hoped that was a yes.

The job was ideal for him, not because he had any idea about how to look out for anyone that required special attention, not even a toddler. But because it was a job that would put a roof over his head and enough money to survive. He didn't had to do too much save to look out that Randall didn't hurt himself and he could concentrate on writing his book. It was far from perfect, but Silver had always been more of a day to day guy, and right now this was more than satisfactory.

Silver looked around at what his new home will be for the following months. There was no much for him save a pullout bed on one side of the room, a cupboard and most importantly, a desk where he could set his laptop. He had little in the way of belongings, so he didn't bother to put anything away from the bags, he just grabbed his computer and set himself to work.

He hadn't managed to write anything for days, in a week time, he needed to have ready at least one more chapter or Max would be at his ass once more. So far, he had only published one book, and though it was moderately successful, the contract had been shitty and he received little to no money for it. That's why he had contacted Max, she had contacts and was a promising literary agent. She would make sure that he never again had to go through such thing, but she was harsh when her writers didn't met the deadlines.

Randall muttered something to the television, and Silver glanced at him. The words in the open document seemed to mock him, daring him to continue his creation with no inspiration at hand.

Silver sighed. He needed this.

 

 

> _'He stared at the bald man who still held a gun aimed at him and with a grin he said, "My name is John Gold and I happen to be a very good cook."'_

.

This day the universe was set in putting Flint in the foulest mood possible. Next to his classroom, Professor Charles Vane gave War History. He was rather young to be a Professor, he had long hair in dreadlocks and if he wasn't for murderous glow in his eyes he'd fit more in a World Peace and Other Hippie Stuff class than the one he had.

Flint got along well with most professors. Well, actually, it was more that he ignored everyone while keeping a scowl in his face and everyone kept out of his path. Only a few ever talked to him, but none that he would ever call friends. But Vane was a special case. Vane liked to try to get a rise out of him and Flint was ashamed to admit that many times he was successful.

On most days, Flint managed to avoid seeing him in his way to his class. Today, Vane was standing outside of the door of his own classroom, seemingly waiting for his students to get in, but Flint knew better.

"So today is the day, isn't it? Today is the day the fat-assed execs will say whether you're good enough to eat their food scraps or not," he said, slurring the words in that whispering tone that was his default mode. "Pity that you have humiliated yourself to be submitted to their evaluation and all for nothing."

Flint would have ignored him, but there was something in his tone that was more than just teasing.

"What do you mean 'for nothing'?" he asked, cursing himself internally for taking the bait.

Vane smiled.

"I've talked to Eleanor. She told me. The post has gone to some new guy," he scoffed. "If you really wish to do your boring investigations, you'll better find some new university," he said looking at Flint with his chin up.

From the classroom door, one of the Teaching Assistants stepped out, he was in his late twenties, and he was the perfect example of the permanent undergrad student still living on instant noodles for dinner everyday with his scrawny figure and black bed hair.

"Your pets need you," Flint sneered at Vane.

The scrawny man who looked totally out of place for a class about wars barely send a glance to Flint before speaking to Vane. "I know you're very busy doing your pissing contest, but class should have started five minutes ago."

Vane finally looked away from Flint and glared at his assistant, but there was no real heat in his look. "Careful. I'll fail you, Jack."

Jack look unperturbed while he walked back into the classroom followed by Vane. Laying on the door frame, Jack's girlfriend and Vane's other assistant, Anne -an undergrad of small body but murder constantly written in her eyes- glowered at Flint silently before walking in and closing the door.

Flint walked into his classroom, not caring about the disdaining look Singleton gave him for arriving late. He put his briefcase over the desk with a heavy plum and signalled Singleton to put on the computer with the presentation for the class. He walked over the desk, and lied on it, with most of his weight on his arms.

"Today we're going to discuss fate and how it affects us, both as an entity and as individuals. Now, somebody cares to tell me their understanding about fate?"

Several hands raised and Flint chose a girl with long black hair from the fourth row.

"That it's set. No matter what you do or try to do, it won't change," she said.

Flint liked her, she had a certain tone of challenge in her voice. Enough to show he wasn't afraid to defend her ideas, but not too much as to make her stubborn. "Your name is?"

"Idelle, sir."

"Alright, Ms. Idelle, so would you say it was fate that I chose you to answer?" Flint asked her.

"Yes, sir," she said with confidence.

"What if I wanted to fight it? What if I wanted to choose someone else?" he questioned.

"It would be fruitless," she sentenced. "One can cast a stone into the river and it would create ripples but it wouldn't change the course of the river."

"So where does that leave our free-will? What does it means for us, individuals?" Flint asked her, thankful for her answers that would made the lesson easier to explain.

However, the boy next to Idelle spoke without permission and imposting a low tone. "All you have to do is to decide what to do with the time that is given to you," he said and laughed when he was done which caused Idelle to hit him in the head with her notebook.

"Sorry, sir," she said giving one last annoyed look to the boy. "What my boyfriend here was trying to say is that free will and fate are not incompatible. One can still decide how to react to the events that happen around us. We can choose to fight it, to curse it, or to go along with it and embrace it. A fish will end up going downstream whether it decides to swim against the current or with it, but the latter is much less tiresome."

"A salmon manages to go upstream, Ms. Idelle," Flint said just to play devil's advocate.

"But the salmon dies, sir."

.

On his way back to his flat, Flint only found Mr. DeGroot, a man of few words generally, something Flint could appreciate. Upon entering he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was half past five, there was still half an hour for the History department to send the email that would say whether or not his plans for the future would come to fruition.

The Universidad de Lima in association with Maroon Books were setting an open competition. Whoever won the post would get a grant to do historical research for five years in the university as well as at least three book deals with Maroon Books. The grant actually meant a steady income that was above poverty level, but it was more than what he had right now as a professor and investigator of a subject almost no one was interested in. This was his chance to make something, to leave an imprint. A legacy of sort that would say that James Flint did something of importance and good in his passing through the world.

After dropping his coat and briefcase over his desk, he was about to turn on the TV to distract himself until he got the mail, when the muffled voice of his new neighbour caught his attention.

"- sake! There's nothing wrong with this food."

A smile crept into Flint's face, amused that this new neighbour that seemed so cocksure was facing trouble with Randall. If there was someone like him that would take no bullshit, it was Randall.

"I can cook," Flint heard Randall saying.

He had come closer to the wall that he shared with Randall's kitchen. Flint wasn't one to gossip or to be interested in other's people lives, but there was something amusing about the situation. Also, he was alone, so he could deny this ever happened even to himself.

"This doesn't taste so bad, will you be so dear as to eat it?" Silver said sounding exasperated.

"I can cook."

"God, what are you? A goddamn chef?"

Silence came from the next door flat.

Even though Flint would insist that he didn't care about his neighbours, a small flare of anger burned in him for Silver's insensitive comment. However, he did not have time to dwell on it as his cellphone beeped with a new notification. Flint's heart stopped in his tracks for one painful second until he was able to pull himself together. This was _the_ email.

He slid through it, uncaring of the formalities, until he could see the only part he cared about.

 

 

> "We are proud to announce that the person selected for the post is:
> 
> John Silver
> 
> Mr. John Silver has a promising career in Historical Fiction after his début novel _Treasure Island_ , which treads the careful line between engaging fiction and accurate history with elegance. Both the Universidad de Lima and Maroon Books are proud to have him."

Flint's throat closed with vile. The little shit next door had won the fucking grant because of what, one fucking book he wrote? With anger making his fingers clumsy, he googled the book. He could only find an extremely short Wikipedia entry.

 

 

> " _Treasure Island_ is a book that narrates the adventures of Jim Eagleton and Long John Gold while they are after the treasure of feared pirate Captain James Frye. It was written in 2014 by British-author John Silver."

There was no page for John Silver, not even a red link to signal any interesting in creating a page for him.

A fucking book about pirates had cost him the grant. God damned pirates. He repressed his impulse to throw away his phone against the wall. Phones were expensive and as of now he couldn't afford a new one. Instead, he threw the lamp from the table next to the sofa. Lamps were cheap, and also, the amount of clutter they produced was satisfying.

He was taken away from his anger by the sound of the doorbell in the other flat and then the sound of the front door being opened. He then heard steps and the sound of the elevator. His anger flared. From where the fuck had that little shit come from, he invaded his building, his workplace. Anger and paranoia consumed him.

.

"God, what are you? A goddamn chef?"

This time Randall said nothing and instead just stared at Silver. There was something in his expression that clued Silver in. A broken and caged spirit could be seen in his eyes.

" _Oh_ ," Silver said, and even he for a moment was at a loss for words. "So, will it be okay if I order a pizza?"

Randall said nothing and went to his sofa. Silver was starting to accept Randall's silence as a yes. When Gates had come to overlook how everything was after lunch -where they had eaten leftovers that Billy had left-, Randall had shown himself amenable, seemingly complying with the agreement they had had earlier.

Silver then ordered a pizza, mozzarella just to be safe, and was pleasantly surprised when ten minutes later the doorbell rang. But then again the shop was right at the corner of their building.

He was coming back whit the pizza hot in his hands, about to enter back into the flat, when a strong pair of hands grabbed him and pushed him against the wall of the hallway.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Flint said, he was grabbing one of Silver's arms hard with his left hand, keeping it in place, while Flint's other hand closed around his neck threatening to cut his airflow, the forearm pining down his chest, pressing him harder against the wall.

"I _was_ bringing dinner for Randall and I, but I no longer know if that's possible," Silver said looking at the pizza box that laid upside down on the floor.

"Do not fucking play games with me. What are you doing here?" Flint spat at him

Silver swallowed hard once.

"I assume this is related to the fact that I won the post." The dangerous glint in Flint's eyes was enough. "Then I have to say, is pure coincidence, if you are to believe in such. Not that I have won, as I like to believe that there's some personal merit in it, but that I also happen to be your neighbour." Flint's hand closed more tightly around his neck, making Silver's feel the strain in his nose. He swallowed again, though this time it was more difficult to do so. "Max told me about the competition months ago, I also needed a job."

"Did you fucking know about me?" Flint asked, his voice filled with dangerous promises.

Flint's body was hard and unyielding against Silver's, and Silver was grateful that his survival instincts were stronger than his libido.

"I've first heard about you this morning," he answered, "though I must admit I googled you afterwards. You have quite the extensive Wikipedia page."

"I can't say the same," Flint retorted.

"Oh, but you have read about me," Silver said.

"Don't try to be funny," he commanded him, pressing his body against Silver.

"Believe I'm not," Silver replied. "However, considering that you'll have to suffer me here for several months yet to come, I'd said that it's in both our interests if we tried to be civilized neighbours meanwhile." Flint scowled but let go of Silver, as much as he liked to beat the living shit of this annoying man, he knew that putting himself in such a bright spot wasn't good. "Who knows," Silver added with a small smile tugging at his lips, "maybe by the time I'll start receiving the grant we'll be friends."

Flint glared at him while Silver kept his smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first thing I want to say is this: This is my first time writing a neuroatypical character, and I'm trying my best to him justice. However, as a neurotypical person I'm surely prone to slip in ableist things. So feel free to tell me if you read anything ableist. Specially between the narrative, because although the characters are supposed to say/do ableist thing, the narrative shouldn't. I'm neurotypical so there's lot of internalized ableism that I'm not aware of, I try to see and look out for it but I may fail. So, really, if you see something ableist in it, tell me, don't doubt it. Your feelings about it are more important than mine. Also, just to clearify thing, although at the risk of spoilers, but whatever: Randall will NOT end in an asylum or dead. I might write him off of the narrative later (or reduce his participation) but it'll be respecting him. (Some of the story will follow the plot of Black Sails, but I'm still not sure of all the elements I'll follow through)  
> Second thing, this is my biggest project so far. It's my first Modern AU. I'm scared.  
> Third thing, yes, the events of Black Sails and (more or less of) Treasure Island are suppossed to have happened. However, considering this is a Reincarnation AU, I couldn't keep the same names, it would have been too weird if they all had the same names than they did in the past, too obivous for the characters. Yes, some of the names are silly, _John Gold, please_ but sue me.  
>  Fourth thing, the updates will be slow, this chapter along took me a month to write. Okay, it's the first chapter that tends to be the hardest. But I'm working, and my life may change and vary and I don't know just be patient. I thought of not publishing this until I was either finished or way more advanced into it. But I think your feedback may help to keep me motivated.  
> I believe there's not a fifth thing, so this is it.  
> PS: Kudos to you if you find the Pirates of the Caribbean reference.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Humans have come into being for the sake of each other,_   
>  _so either teach them, or learn to bear them.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _– Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

It had been quite sometime since Flint had had them last _._ He used to call them nightmares but they had become so familiar that it didn't seem fitting to continue calling them that. They were not nightmares, but they weren't pleasant dreams either. Something in-between probably.

He never knew exactly how to feel afterwards.

The blood and the gore in them wasn't as unsettling as it should be. They were a constant. What perturbed him the most was the persistent longing, the void he felt. He was used to void, he had felt it for the last ten years, he was used to its pain. But in his dream the void had a dangerous edge. It was filled with darkness, and it whispered to him, threatening to consume him.

He wanted to dread those dreams, instead he craved them. It was like trying to put together the pieces of a puzzle with blurred edges. It was the satisfaction of connecting the pieces and the desperation of seeing them fade away right afterwards. Like a king with a boulder and a hill.

However, this night between the blood and the violence, between the darkness and the void, he had dreamt of black curls and blue eyes.

This night the longing had been a bit less.

This night the pain had felt a bit more real.

This morning when his thoughts inescapably carried him towards his new neighbour, anger set in. That man was a thief, he had taken away what should've been his, he had invaded his space and even his dreams. He would have to look out for him, keep an eye on him to make sure he caused him no more troubles.

This morning the coffee did nothing to assuage his bad mood.

.

On his defence, Flint would say this, he had tried. He had tried to stay put in his office and do nothing but his research, yet he had been unable to focus. Because here was the thing about Flint, once that he had set his mind into something, specially when he thought something was his, any deviation from that goal was a miscarriage of justice. So after losing an hour of doing little more than rereading the same two paragraphs, he gave in.

He walked down the hallways of the university as a jaguar goes to its prey. No one dared to stand in his path, students and professors alike would move aside to let him pass. But once in front of the presidential office he knew he had to change tactics, it wouldn't be the strength of a feline what would help him, it would be the seduction of a rattle snake with its tail. He took a calming breath to clear his head. When he finally stepped in, he had his most charming smile.

"I've come to see Dr. Guthrie," he announced to the receptionist. The woman stared at him for two seconds in confusion, but right before she could speak, Flint continued. "He's not expecting me."

The woman hesitated once more, but again, before she could reject him or say anything, Flint spoke. "Just please tell him Mr. Flint is here."

The woman finally nodded, and walked into Guthrie's office. Moments later, she came out, to announce him that he would be received. Guthrie's door had the university's logo imprinted in it, under it, its motto. _Knowledge is a treasure_.

The Universidad de Lima had been founded in 1975, after the independence of Nassau from England, by the Spaniard Guillermo Vázquez. He had been an anarchist and as such he decided to piss off both England and Spain. He pissed off England by naming the second college of a former English colony in Spanish. He pissed off Spain but naming it after the Urca the Lima, the famous shipwreck that had cost Spain a good size of gold by the hands of pirates. Vázquez had a good sense of humour, but sadly, barely twenty years later he was succumbing to cancer. He had no children or family, so he decided to sell it. That's when Richard Guthrie, the youngest descendant of a rich family who had a long history in the Bahamas, had decided to buy it.

"I know what you're doing here," Guthrie said when Flint came in. "You believe that there has been foul play, that my," he hesitated choosing the right word, " _opinion_ of you has in some way influenced the result, causing you to lose the grant and the book deal. I won't deny that there's certain _animosity_ between you and I. However, I can assure you that it has had no play in the result. You lost, simply, because you don't have enough merits, _Mr._ Flint."

All the charm he had managed to gather, all the calm, had vanished. Flint's breath was shallow, anger consumed him and he was starting to see red.

"You have spent ten years in this institution and you're yet to obtain a doctorate. As a matter of fact, you have never even applied to one. Your subject of speciality is of little interest to the public. Save for a few articles you're yet to produce any interesting reading material, making you unqualified for even _one_ book deal, let alone three. And your investigation hasn't produced any results worth mentioning yet. Do tell me, did you really thought you could ever won the post?" Guthrie finished with a loathsome smirk.

If Flint didn't strangle him it was because he still needed a job. "So you are to tell me," his breathing was laboured, "that an _amateur,_ " and the rage inside him kept building up, "was better qualified? Someone with no academic titles, no background at all, just one lousy book, was better qualified?"

"I am indeed," Guthrie said smiling, enjoy his chance of dragging Flint down. "Mr. Silver, though new in the field shows potential. His book is on its way to becoming a success. After all, this is Nassau, our history with piracy is a topic that actually _interests_ people. He has potential. He's also good-looking and _young_ which would definitely help to sell more books. The university will benefit to add him as one of its investigators. Besides," he added, and his smile turned particularly devious, "it's not like the lack of a _proper_ academic degree should be a deterrent, shouldn't it?"

Flint was beside furious. He was being humiliated and there was nothing he could do about it. Not if he wanted to keep his job, not if he wanted to remain in Nassau.

"That would be all, wouldn't it?" Guthrie dismissed him, clearly knowing he had won this round.

"This won't be the last of it," Flint threatened standing up to leave.

"I wouldn't expect less of you," Guthrie said, his unkind smile still etched on his face.

Flint stormed up out of the office. His insides were crumbling down, everything he had work so hard to built up in the last ten years of his life was coming apart and there was nothing he could envision to stop it. His contract as investigator would be over in less than a year, and without the grant his chances to continue in this university were low. And Nassau was a small place, if he were to lose this job he wouldn't be able to get another one in the same field of work.

"Mr. Flint!" a woman's voice called him, "James!"

Flint turned a saw Eleanor Guthrie, the Vice President of Academic Affairs, coming out of her office, next to her father's. Her blonde hair and blue eyes made her look even younger, which was a direct contrast to not only her position but to the guts she actually possessed. Her looks, her gender, being her father's daughter all played against her. Daily she had to face a world that told her she didn't deserve what she had work so hard to obtain. That was probably why she and Flint got along.

"No matter what he told you, I want you to know that it really wasn't something personal," she said, knowing what kind of man his father was. "It was decided from a commercial standpoint. We chose what would give us the most profit, nothing else. I'm sorry." She sounded sincere.

Flint gave one small, almost imperceptible nod in acknowledgement and kept walking.

A plan started forming in his head. Maybe there was something to be said about profitable impersonal decisions.

.

Flint had spent the rest of his day doing research. There was one piece of data that he knew to be crucial for his plan to be put into motion. It wasn't something he had put a lot of attention before, he remembering having read it in a passing glance. And now it was crucial.

His search had turned unsatisfactory. Yet for once, it didn't damp his mood. He knew he had the information, and he knew his plan would work out.

Meanwhile there were other things he could do.

He was arriving at the front door of his flat, when a disgusting smell hit him. He could hear Silver's curses and he knew immediately what the smell was. Flint couldn't help but smile, this was perfect. He didn't bother to go to his own apartment to dress out of his street clothes, he just rang the doorbell of the 3C.

"Who the fuck-" he heard Silver curse. "Coming! Just a- fuck!"

Flint smiled, whatever caused pain to that little shit, caused joy to Flint. He waited by the door and Randall opened it. Randall's face looked exhausted with frustration. He tended to be frustrated frequently, people hardly ever listened to him and even when they did, they tended to dismiss his opinion. Because, of course, what would someone whose sentences were no longer than five words would have to say that was ever worth paying attention to.

Yet, Randall's expression now seemed particular pained. "He can't cook," he said to Flint, and Flint understood perfectly that he wanted an ally in his suffering.

"No, he can't, that's much is clear even from here," he agreed.

Randall then left the door open and walked to the kitchen, so Flint entered closing the door behind him. He trailed behind Randall and couldn't help a sharp intake of breath when he saw the mess in the kitchen.

Pieces of chop down vegetables lied everywhere. Over the lit burner there was a pot where spaghetti was being burnt, there was no water in them any more, only a mess of white and burnt brown. It was the burning spaghetti what was emitting the foul smell. On another pot, there was what Flint guessed it was Silver's attempt at making a tomato sauce, well, it was that or Silver was trying to do abstract art.

And Silver... Silver was a mess too. He held a mixer in his hand as if it was a sword, and his front was splashed with tomato sauce, some of it had even reached his face. Flint would have laughed, but for some reason, the red sauce on Silver's face unsettled him.

But then he saw the piece of onion hanging from Silver's hair and he couldn't help but crack a smile that showed his teeth. Silver just looked pissed. "Have you come to just laugh or is there anything you need?"

"I wanted to apologize for last night and thought that maybe I could help you with your dinner?" Flint say applying once again his charm into his voice. "Though I believe that at this point you need more than just help."

Silver stared at him for a couple of seconds. He didn't buy Flint's explanation, but he knew if he wanted to find out the truth behind Flint's presence in their flat, he had to play the game.

Silver raised an eyebrow. "You know how to cook?" he asked with curiosity.

"You shouldn't be so surprised, _anyone_ has more knowledge about cooking than you do," Flint said with a teasing smile.

"So with what do we begin with?" Silver asked, the same mocking tone in his voice than Flint's.

"First, stop grabbing the mixer as it was a sword," Flint said. "Then, we'll clean the mess you've created."

"Alright," Silver accepted.

He put down the mixer over the kitchen counter, and while Flint was distracted managing the pots into the sink, Silver took out his shirt. Flint actually saw it out of the corner of his eye, but it took several seconds for his brain to precess the image. When he did, he turned around alarmed.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked trying to hide the alarm he felt under disapproval.

"You can't possible expect me to cook with this ruined shirt," Silver said smugly, and then proceeded to use the shirt to clean his face. Flint had been managing to not stare at Silver's muscular chest or abdomen, but he failed spectacularly when presented with the chance of Silver not knowing of his scrutiny.

"Alright, first rule of cooking, _never_ leave your chest exposed," Flint announced. "Go and fetch a new shirt," he commanded him.

"Aye, aye, captain!" Silver said.

Flint did see the satisfied smug that adorned Silver's lips. The little shit.

"I'll help." Randall's voice startled Flint.

He had forgotten about Randall's presence in the kitchen. Flint chastised himself, it was not like him to not be aware of his surroundings. Silver may be more dangerous to him on a personal level than what he first thought. He still needed to keep him close, though.

"Throw this into the garbage," Flint told Randall handing him the pot with the failed attempt at a sauce.

Randall complied. He actually wanted to do more than just help. He wanted to _cook_. But he had learned after asking and demanding and trying, that the others wouldn't let him, not anymore. This way, he still got to at least do something.

Silver was back with a white T-shirt that still did little to hide his pectorals. Randall had finished cleaning his pot and Flint was still struggling with the burnt spaghetti.

"How do you want me?" Silver said and Flint rolled his eyes at the innuendo.

"Grab a new pot, fill it with water," Flint commanded him, giving up on the pot and leaving it on the sink filled with water to be deal with later.

"Jesus, do you think I'll be able to handle that?" Silver asked him ironically.

"No, I'm not sure, to be honest." Silver smiled, and to his dismay, Flint could feel a small smile in reply tugging his lips, and he hates how he couldn't do anything to stop it.

The three of them worked together well as a team. Flint chopped down the vegetables while Randall stirred them up, and Silver watched and played assistant when needed. Flint explained to Silver how, no, you didn't mixed the peeled tomatoes on the pot unless you were trying to make soup and taught him how to properly use the mixer. After seasoning the sauce, when the only thing left was to wait for the pasta to finish cooking, Silver leaned against the counter and with his arms folded in a way that accentuated his biceps -not that Flint was paying attention, mind you-, he spoke:

"I hope what I'm going to say doesn't push any boundaries, specially after your help and the kindness you are showing me today. But I can't help but ponder how we could be of mutual benefit to each other, on a professional level. See, I must admit, I have no experience on academic investigation, of which you have plenty. On September, I will have access to a grant, which you don't."

"Your point is?" Flint's asked him with little patience.

"You see," Silver said, uncaring, still set to say his whole piece, "the key in writing any story is knowing your characters. Plot and logistics can wait, as long as you have a good understanding of the characters. Understand what drives them, what motivates them and you'll see their paths. Particularly, in historical fiction _what_ they do isn't as important as to _why_ they do it."

"So I'm assuming you'll ask me to help you with the why how?" Flint questioned him, though he still was guarded he was captivated by Silver's words.

"Recorded history is written by the winners, and pirates did not win," Silver sentenced. "So history wrote them as villains. However, I'm interested in how they saw themselves. I'm good at figuring out motives, James, yet there're some pieces of the puzzle that elude me."

He left the counter and walked a few steps closer to Flint.

"There's no much about it, but apparently, Captain James Frye's most priced possession was not his treasure. It was a book, a book about Stoic philosophy. _Meditations_ by Marcus Aurelius. So I'm interested in how someone with a kin interest in such subject could be at peace with playing the role of the villain."

"So Frye is the villain in your story?" Flint asked, and for some reason, that seemed more personal than it should.

"He was the villain in someone's story," Silver shrugged. He then took a breath to continue talking. "In September I'll have to join a lab inside of the university. My understanding of Stoic philosophy is small. We could work together and help each other's investigations. I'll bring in the money, you'll have the means."

Flint just stared at Silver's eyes in the short distance that kept them apart. This has been his plan but he had failed on recovering the data. With resources and time he could work on this. The strange connection between pirates and stoic philosophy. He couldn't avoid being amazed at how clever the little shit could be, how alluring his words could be. He wasn't stupid, he knew Silver had some ulterior motive, the offer didn't come from the kindness of his heart, but then again, so did he.

Flint nodded. "The pasta is ready," he announced, breaking the spell that held them close.

Silver went to take care of the spaghetti, while Flint went to set the table. Silver was surprised when he saw Flint grab three sets of dishes and he communicated it with a raised eyebrow. Flint answered him with a smug teasing grin to which Silver smirked amused.

The food served, the three of them sat at the table. Randall was the first to start eating and after a couple of mouthfuls, he declared, "I like it."

"Randall, I'm offended, after all the effort I've put in cooking food for you, you betray me like this," Silver said jokingly.

Randall stared him dead in the eye. "I like it," he repeated, and although he didn't smile the teasing was obvious.

Silver just glared at Randall with no heat. He took a bite of the food, and when the taste hit him in full, he moaned. "Oh, this tastes so good, James."

When Flint glared at Silver there was real heat, but whether it came from annoyance or want, he couldn't know.

They ate the rest of the food in relatively silence. Randall, as always, wouldn't speak much and Silver was too busy enjoying his food. And, of course, Flint was not one to do small talk. Flint still observed Silver while he ate, he could tell the man was putting an act, trying to entice him, not giving up on this game he had started. However, Flint was not interested in the act, he was interested in the glimpses of truth behind the act. Those cracks in the game that showed how much Silver was actually enjoying having a home made dinner.

"How can a man your age doesn't know how to cook some simple pasta dish?" he found himself asking.

Silver raised his eyes from his plate and stared at Flint. For a fraction of second, they had a connection. Flint had asked out of mere curiosity, he was not interested in any truth. But now, with his green eyes gazing into Silver's he realized he wanted the real answer. The truth that would show him the real story of John Silver. And in that fraction of second, he saw it. He saw the flicker of doubt in Silver's eyes, that small moment of vulnerability where he pondered whether to answer with the truth or keep with the act that he showed to the rest of the world.

"Why, not everyone can afford a kitchen to practice," Silver answered nonchalantly.

Not a lie, but not exactly the truth either. Flint felt a small sting of disappointment that he wanted to deny and he couldn't take it anymore.

"I have to go," he announced, and not waiting for Silver to say anything, he left the kitchen. A slam indicated that he had left.

Silver didn't hear him entering his flat.

.

He hadn't bothered to call in advance. He knew it was a bit of an asshole move, but he couldn't be bothered. Their relationship went far back and she would understand. He shouldn't be here, it was dangerous, but a long time ago he had stopped caring about danger. He rang her doorbell repeatedly, until he heard her approach.

She opened the door and there she was. Her brown hair pull tight into a pony tail, she was wearing a white night gown and her dark brown eyes were penetrating as always.

She seemed like a ghost. How appropriate.

"Miranda, I-" Flint said but shame tied his tongue.

Miranda said nothing and moved to a side to let him in. Flint stepped in and tried to speak, but once more he failed. He had come to her because once again, he needed comfort but he had never known how to ask for it. So instead, he cupped her face softly, but with an edge of desperation, and kissed her. As always, she opened up to him.

With firm hands, she guided him to her bedroom. They undressed each other rather fast, there was no discovery to be made as they knew each other so well. There was no seduction because this wasn't about lust, it wasn't about love either, though they did love each other. This was about comfort, this was about familiarity. It was about feeling a little less alone.

Surrounded by her arms and sweet heat, Flint felt like he could breath again since he had left Randall's flat. Miranda was familiar, Miranda was safe. He knew his shame with her.

After they both came, while they were still panting, Miranda moved away a strand of hair from Flint's sweaty forehead, and asked him. "What is it?"

Flint looked at her and saw his options in her eyes. Miranda would not force him to answer, but she would be disappointed at him if he didn't. It seemed fitting.

He opened he opened his mouth to answer but the words would simply not come out. So he hid his head in shame on the crook of Miranda's neck in shame and clutched tighter to her.

.

Silver had already cleaned the mess he had made during breakfast and Randall was watching the food network, so at the moment, there was nothing else for him to do but work on his novel. He was struggling to find the perfect combination of words for his next sentence, when someone rang. With a very frustrated sigh he got up to answer the door.

Billy was waiting on the other side.

After a few greeting words, Billy announced, "I've come to see Randall."

"And here I was, hoping you've come to see me," Silver said, with a fake-resigned tone, stepping to a side to let Billy in. Billy barely glared at him for a second for his joke.

"Hey, Randall," Billy said, "mind if I sit with you?"

Randall looked at Billy and nodded slowly once before scooting over to a side to make space for him.

"So how are you doing, Randall? Are you two adjusting well?" Billy asked him.

Randall answered after a pause. "It's not you," he said. And for once, Billy understood what Randall meant with few words.

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "Can I stay here with you for a while?"

Randall nodded. Unconsciously, Billy moved closer to him, reminiscent of those times as a teen when they watched the food network together and then Randall would cook him one of the dishes they had seen. Only that now Randall didn't cook anymore.

"Did something interesting happened recently?" Billy asked Randall to strike conversation.

"Flint had dinner with us," and an imperceptible smile appeared in Randall's lips in response to the expression of astonishment in Billy's face.

"He did _what_?" Billy exclaimed.

"Yes, he said he wanted to apologize for his rude behaviour from the first day, and offered to prepare dinner," Silver said from his chair at the desk, cleverly leaving out his own bad cooking. "I must admit I was rather surprised by his skills in the kitchen. The nice dinner would have worked perfectly as an apology if it wasn't that he left suddenly in the middle of it." Silver would've never mentioned the ending to that dinner if he didn't want to pry information out of Billy.

"Rude," Randall put in.

"My thoughts exactly," Silver agreed. "I have no idea what might have prompted him to leave."

"Flint being rude sounds more like him than preparing dinner, actually," Billy said. "It's not unusual for him to be absent from time to time. Some say it's because he's married, some that he has a secret lover, others say that he's dating someone important. But no matter what, all versions agree on something. There's a woman out there."

"Oh, I see," Silver exclaimed and he didn't like that ounce of anger that slipped through his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to thank Percy Jackson from some of the knowledge it gave me on greek mythology.  
> Second, I think "knowledge is treasure" is my best pun so far.  
> Third, I hate Richard Guthrie and I'm giving Eleanor a chance.  
> Fourth, after writing the spaghetti scene I had to cook some for myself because I was hungry. And who thought pasta could be so sexy, sadly when I cooked it there wasn't any sexual tension.  
> Fifth, yay! for emotional constipation!  
> Sixth, thank you for reading and your lovely comments. I hope you guys like where this story is going.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Do the things external which fall upon thee distract thee?_   
>  _Give thyself time to learn something new and good,_   
>  _and cease to be whirled around."_
> 
> _– Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

For once, Flint was having a good day. The little shit hadn't bothered him for a few days, and for the past hour he had been dragging Singleton down in a battle of wits. Singleton was getting angrier and angrier and as such his words were getting dumber and dumber. And if there was something that Flint enjoyed was exposing what a fake Singleton was. So today, Flint's frowns were a little softer.

"We've been discussing fate for a while," he spoke to the class, "we've discussed what it entails, how it affects us. But there's a question we still hadn't asked, can it be predicted? I am not talking about oracles or seers. We, in our common lives, can we foretell the push and pull of the tides? How many of you are familiar with the concepts of 'Eternal Recurrence' and cyclical time?" he asked.

Only a handful of students raised their hands. Idelle was one of them.

"For those of you who are hearing for the first time, it entails that what has happened shall happen again, that we exist in a cycle. So that arises another question, are our actions nothing else but an echo of the past? Is everything doomed to repeat itself in a series of chained events? Mr. Singleton," he suddenly turned around to his Associate Professor, "what's your input about it."

"Yes. What has happened yesterday, has happened tomorrow, and there's no escaping it." Singleton argued, leaving no room for discussion.

A student raised her hand.

"Yes, Ms. Idelle," Flint called her. There was a spark of challenge in her eyes. Flint smirked slightly.

"Not necessarily. It may be that not every single event is fixed but just enough to create a pattern." Next to her, her boyfriend raised his hand too.

"Yes, Mr..."

"Augustus Featherstone, sir," Flint nodded. "Can it be like Doctor Who then? There're fixed points in time and space, what happens in between can be altered but not those points."

"That would be correct," Flint agreed. "With this reasoning, this points are fixed and what happens to get to these points may vary, but they'll still have the same consequence." He then looked at Idelle. "So going back to our example of the salmon from the other day, would you say that the salmon is still doomed to die every year during the mating season? That maybe one year it dies from exhaustion, maybe the next a bear catches it, but that independently on the how, it must die?"

"Basically yes."

"So how do we perceive cyclical time?" Flint asked now to the entire class.

But instead of a student Singleton answered, pissed for having had his opinion dismissed again, this time by a student, a fucking slut that used to much cleavage. "Like a circle," he said, and he sounded stubborn. "Where everything must follow the same path."

Idelle raise her hand again and Flint acknowledged her with a nod.

"That depends from the point of view, if one-"

"Oh, can somebody make the whore shut the fuck up?" Singleton said abruptly and rudely.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the classroom, everyone was looking astounded at Singleton. Idelle had gone red, and Augustus was gaping in surprise. Flint was livid, nobody treated his students like that, not in his classroom. His anger gave fuel to his calculating wit, so calmly, he addressed Idelle.

"Ms. Idelle, would you like to report this in Ms. Eleanor's office?"

Idelle looked at him, she was visibly shaken, yet her head was still high and her voice was firm when she answered, "Yes, sir."

"Alright, I'll accompany you after class and I'll also offer my testimony," and his manners towards her were supportive, but all the warm left him when he turned around to look at the man next to him. "Now, Mr. Singleton, I'll have to ask you to leave my classroom and to not return. Ever."

A vein pulsed in Singleton's bald. "You can't do that!"

"I can, and I'm doing it." Flint said. "I won't ask again. Leave my classroom."

Singleton stared at him. His chest was out and he tried to tower over Flint stepping closer. But Flint wouldn't bulge and after a few seconds, he left cursing him under his breath and slamming the door. A few of the students applauded and cheered and Flint let them for a few seconds.

"Now, Ms. Idelle, would you like to continue with your idea?"

Idelle took a few seconds to recompose herself. She had experience facing douchebags like Singleton, what she didn't seem to have experience with was people, specially men, supporting her against them. "Yes, was I was trying to say is that one can view time as waves, like a sine function. Depending from where time is looked at it can seem either like a circle, or like a wave."

"What difference would it have with a circle then?"

"In a circle, nothing changes. In a wave, it's the pattern that matters, but the path it's not the same. And also," she paused, "well, I'm not sure. But maybe, the fixed points aren't in the pattern. But- things try to reach a point of equilibrium, in this case, the wave will get smaller, it'll produce changes on how the pattern presents itself, in what events it generates, until it reaches that point."

"So what happens when the point of equilibrium is reached?" Flint asked.

"I don't know, sir. The universe may cease to exist or the salmon may finally live."

.

It was past lunchtime and Idelle should have by now already reported to Eleanor Singleton's behaviour. So it was a good time for Flint to offer his statement as witness and get rid of Singleton for once from his classroom. He arrived at Eleanor's office with smug satisfaction.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Scott, I've come to-"

"Ms. Eleanor is already waiting for you," Scott, Eleanor's personal assistant, interrupted him.

He acknowledge it with a nod, hiding his displeasure at being interrupted as some fresh undergrad student, and walked into the office. He had expected to find Eleanor alone, instead two persons were sit at the desk in front of her.

One was a woman he had never seen before, her skin was a tempting pale brown, her face shaped like a diamond with eyes dark and penetrating. She was wearing a blue dress with fine engravings in black. She had a breath-taking and elegant beauty. But right now, Flint was not interested in her.

He was interested in the little shit sitting on the other chair, his blue eyes shining with mischief and his lips were curved in one of those smiles that seemed to be his trademark. That self-assurance that said everything was panning out as he expected.

" _Justo_ , speaking of the devil..." the woman said, but Flint only had eyes for Silver's smirk.

"Mr. Flint, this is Max Tatham, Mr. Silver's literary agent," Eleanor introduced him. "And you have already met Mr. Silver, I've been told."

"Yes, I have," Flint said, his voice galled.

Max stood from her chair and faced Flint. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Flint. Silver has spoken a great deal about you." She offered him a hand. Flint took it and shook it softly.

"Mr. Silver has told me that he has spoken to you about working in your laboratory once the grant comes into order," Eleanor said. "I must admit it would not have been my first choice, but he has already explained how it would be of mutual benefit for all parties involved. I just wanted to hear your opinion on it personally before starting the paperwork to make it so."

"Yes, we've discussed it," Flint affirmed. "However, we're yet to arrange what it will entail."

He had bile rising up I his throat. He knew his day had been too good to last. He knew he would have to stand Silver come the new semester. But this was too soon, his work was his sacred place. He had control in his workplace, and he could see it slipping away even further. So he hated Silver for it.

"I suggest before the grant comes in that Mr. Silver does some light work in your laboratory so he can get used to the working environment there and to test if it's really in your combined benefit," Eleanor suggested. "If it doesn't work out, we can always arrange a change."

"I can't wait to start," Silver said, the little shit.

Flint sighed. "Yes, I believe that would be best."

"Then I'll make the necessary paperwork," Eleanor said. "Now, if you excuse me, I have some final things to discuss with Ms. Tatham here."

"Please, call me Max," she said a smile gracing his face.

Flint observed Max, he analysed her posture, her expression. He then looked at Eleanor flushing. He came to the realization that Silver and Max were a perfect match, they both used seduction as a weapon. They both played with words and easy smile to captivate the other and have them in their pockets. Flint felt resentment, he felt wronged and used. He wanted to stamp over Max's plans.

"Excuse me," he said, "I've also come for another matter. I wanted to testify in Ms. Idelle case against Singleton."

"I'm aware," Eleanor answered. "Don't worry, Ms. Idelle's case isn't the first I have against Mr. Singleton and I'll now have enough to dispose of him for good. However I'll have to take your testimony tomorrow."

Flint nodded. Max and Silver's claws were more firmly grasped in this university that what he had expected. Like Cerberus claiming ownership of one big bone. He wondered briefly if he would ever meet a third head. He didn't stay to find out.

"I also have some things to discuss with Mr. Flint, so if you'll excuse me, ladies," Silver said before leaving.

He walked faster to catch up to Flint in the hallway. "I hope you weren't offended, James-" Silver begun to say.

They were in a public space so Flint couldn't push Silver against a wall to threaten him, he could however, grab his arm and sink his fingers painfully into his flesh. It was still obvious that something was happening, but not _that_ obvious. "We're not friends, Silver," he said. "And if we're to be coworkers then you'll never call me anything other than Flint, do you understand?"

"Alright, _Flint_ ," Silver agreed.

It was only when Flint moved away that he actually realized how close Flint had been. Several people were looking at them, mostly students, even what he assumed where other professors, like that man with a scar on his left cheek. Flint let him go completely and the people that had been staring at their exchange dispersed when they saw that nothing serious was happening.

Usually, Silver was not one to be worried about what others thought. He had learnt the hard way that it didn't matter whether others liked him or not. It had been survival. The opinion of others didn't matter only how they can be useful to him. Yet, Flint thinking less of him bother him for some reason. Alright, _Flint_ , he thought, let's see how much that lasts for you.

"I was trying to say that I hoped you weren't offended by me talking to Eleanor, but I see that it's too late for that," he said. "I'm only trying to make things work here, yet you keep coming after me as if I was your enemy. Can you understand that for now, are interests are aligned and we're allies in all of this. I am _not_ your enemy."

Flint said nothing, unwilling to concede him the point.

As in cue, a voice that dragged words over gravel sounded next to them. "You must be the notorious John Silver. We haven't been introduced yet. I'm Charles Vane and I teach War History, something that probably interests you more than some others subjects," he said with a disdainful look at Flint.

Silver shook his hand for civility's sake.

"Pleased to meet you. However, I'm not interested in wars at the moment."

"You're writing about a pirate war," Vane said, he still hadn't released Silver's hand.

"That I am. But it's not wars what make a story epic, it's the ideals of the people who endure them. Wars are the thunder but they're not the storm. The storm are the passions, the romances, the heartbreaks. Can you help me with that?"

His hand was being crushed by Vane's. At this point, Silver would consider himself lucky if he managed to walk out of this university with all his limbs intact.

"Be careful to not tie yourself to a sinking ship," Vane threatened him.

"Don't worry, I will," he said trying to free his hand from Vane's grip with no avail. Vane smirked at Silver's futile attempts.

" _Vane_ ," Flint warned, and Silver found himself caught in the middle of a clash of titans. He didn't like this, because when gods fought mortals paid the consequences.

They measured each other up with their eyes, until Vane gave up and released Silver's hand. "Better take care of yourself, kiddo," Vane said. Flint scowled at Vane's retreating back.

"I think that's my cue for leaving, then," Silver said after Vane had disappeared into another hallway.

"Where are you going?" Flint asked.

"I need to pick Randall up and go home."

"Where is he?"

Silver looked puzzled at Flint's curiosity. "He's in therapy a few blocks away."

"I'll drive you," Flint said and he waited no answer from Silver before walking away.

.

This was a precarious situation, Silver wasn't sure that he understood everything that had drove him here. But here he was, next to Flint in his car, Randall sleeping loudly in the back seat. It was an ordinary thing, a neighbour doing a favour to another neighbour. However, coming from Flint this meant so much more, this had a certain level of _intimacy_. What Silver didn't know was where did this left them. In that hallway, something had changed.

"You've got no idea how to make research," Flint said abruptly.

"I thought I had made that clear when I made my proposal to you to work together," Silver answered, threading carefully through this uncharted waters, hoping it would leave him closer to Flint.

"I can't have you in my lab if you're going to be a useless fuck." Before Silver could say something Flint continued, "I'll have to train you. You won't be able to come to the lab with Randall often, so I'll go to your place after work and I'll show you the basics."

Silver was dumbstruck for a few seconds. He had expected that getting to this point would get him weeks of coaxing him and slowly working him over. He once more tried to think fast what could have been that prompted the change. But he got no answers and it wouldn't do to think of what happened, rather on what was happening. So he focused on Flint next to him, he focused on those green determined eyes.

A warm smile spread through Silver's lips. "Yes, I think that would be best."

Flint kept driving in silence, until they arrived to _The Walrus_. Silver woke up Randall and the three of them went to his flat. When they arrived Randall went to the bookcase to grab something to entertain himself with.

"He always reads the same recipe books," Silver observed going to his desk.

"Yeah," Flint agreed softly, because he knew Randall's tragedy.

"He was a chef, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, he had always dreamt of being one, but he had never had the chance. Always busy working on a job he didn't like but that paid the bills. When he finally dared to become a chef, they said he was too old to start a new profession from scratch but he persisted."

"Did he managed to prove them wrong?" Silver asked.

"Yes."

"Good."

Flint stared at Randall who was reading recipes he wasn't allowed to cook anymore and he thought of the salmon. He thought of the salmon swimming against the current and in how many ways it could die. Sometimes the salmon died dreaming of things that could no longer be.

Silver walked back into the living room with a chair from the kitchen and placed it on the desk. "So what's it going to be, Professor?" he asked with a sly smile.

Flint rolled his eyes, annoyed, but he was secretly glad at the tension being broken. He sat next to Silver. "Let's start with what you have that link Frye with _Meditations_ ," he said.

So Silver showed him the text he had found, and Flint taught him about what constituted a reliable source. And if their arms brushed against one another in the small place of the desk neither of them said anything.

"I'm hungry," Randall said suddenly.

When they both looked at the hour they realized three hours had passed, and the sun did no longer filtered through the windows of the flat. Flint got up rapidly, almost awkwardly. "I have to go," he said, but unlike last time, he didn't sound so sure. He remained for a few seconds just standing there, staring at Silver before he turned to leave.

Silver got up, and when Flint had only waked a few steps he asked, "will you stay?" Flint turned, and Silver knew he had sounded too vulnerable, so he tried to fix it. "For dinner, I mean."

Flint smiled.

"You just want me to cook for you so you don't get food poisoning, don't you?"

This was a more familiar terrain, but there was still something new about it. "I was trying to not be so obvious," Silver smiled in return.

They kept looking at each other for a few seconds, before Flint headed to the kitchen. Silver felt relief along a warm wave of emotion that he wasn't sure that he welcomed.

"You like him," Randall said.

"Oh, shut up, Randall," Silver snapped.

The warm feelings inside him where replaced with dread because he was a loner. He had never relied on others and he wouldn't start doing so now. He would keep up his mask and keep playing the game, because that's what it was. However, which each step towards the kitchen where he could already hear and smell Flint's cooking his resolve crumbled a bit more.

At the moment, he arrived at the kitchen's door he only have doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first, yes, this chapter is shorter than usual. But i ust got to a point where it would've been stretching for the sake of reaching a certain word count, and I prefer quality to quantity, right?  
> Second, I hope it wasn't a huge philosophy expo dump. I think it _is_ necessary considering future chapters.  
>  Third, also yes, I decided to add even more greek myths references, and salmon apparantly will be a current thing in this fic. Who would have guessed?  
> Fourth, I hadn't expected either that Idelle would become my avatar in this fic. Yes, that's how I also am in classes. Although my classes aren't about philosphy but biology. You should have seen the class where we discussed how Finding Nemo had lied to us.  
> Fifth, apparently I've also decided to make Charles Vane the Draco Malfoy of this fic. Which would mean that Silver is Harry and Flint is Ron (hey at least they're both ginger). I swear to God that I don't even know what I'm writing anymore at this point.  
> Sixth, yes, also apparently my notes will have this format from now on. Whatever...  
> Seventh, I think I'm babbling bc I'm unsure about how this chapter turned out and I want to move on to the next one. I hope you like it though.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Shame on the soul,_   
>  _to falter on the road of life_   
>  _while the body still perseveres.”_
> 
> _-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

He saw him sitting in a circle of their neighbours, next to Randall between Dooley and Muldoon. He was entertaining them with a tell, probably just pure lies. The men were laughing, some of them grabbed their stomachs to alleviate the pain of the guffaws, others cleaned tears of laughter from their eyes. Silver did not only looked comfortable with an audience, knowing how to play them, what words to use, what pauses to make. He also seemed to fit, like he belonged with people holding to his every word, paying attention to what came out of his mouth.

Silver was a siren and their neighbours were the bewitched sailors, lured into his trap. It was too late for Flint to not hear the song, so maybe he should find a mast to tie himself too. When Silver saw him approach, he interrupted his tale for a few seconds to smile at him. Flint realized that he would need strong ropes.

It was another Owners' Association Meeting and they were supposed to discuss how much should they pay this month for the maintenance of the building. This month, the list of things to fix was extremely high. With Billy only now being able to help Gates, the number of broken things had piled up which meant they needed more money than usual. Of course, everyone would complain about that, but in the end all of them would pay.

Night was setting in and the room was chilly, some drafts from the rooftop's door cooled the air. Yet the atmosphere was warm, even Flint felt comfortable. This was their family, and Silver seemed to have joined them perfectly..

Most of the chatter died down when Gates entered the room. A few of the people closest to the door patted him in the back as greeting and then they went to find a seat.

"Alright, people, shall we start?" Gates announced loudly, the faster they were done, the more time to chat and, most importantly, eat.

The group around Silver dissolved, many of the men carried their chairs to put them back in rows. When the chair on Silver's left was emptied, Silver rearrange it and just looked at Flint. But Flint didn't need the invitation as he was already heading over to it.

Their relationship has been progressing steadily. For almost a month now, Flint had gone to Randall's flat every other day to teach Silver about research. They would stay hours in front of a computer or buried between Flint's books until Randall announced he was hungry. For the first week, Silver had weakly – though he tried to hide it under his usual mask of nonchalance – asked if he would stay for dinner. Every single time, Flint had answered yes. After the first week, Silver hadn't asked anymore, Flint had stayed anyway.

"So here are the things that will need repair this month..." Gates started.

"We've lost today's appointment," Silver whispered to Flint.

"Very observant," Flint sneered. The meeting had been announced over a week ago.

"So are you going to come by tomorrow instead?"

"No, I can't," Flint said simply. Tomorrow was Friday and he had promised to Miranda that he would pass by. He wouldn't back down on a promise to her, even if it was just having dinner together.

Silver didn't comment on Flint's lack of explanation. "So what about after the meeting? It's my understanding that tomorrow you don't have classes on the morning."

Flint looked at him sideways, whether he was assessing Silver's proposal or Silver himself, he couldn't tell. Silver looked relaxed, he laid back on the chair with his butt near the edge of it. His expression almost playful, at it was all part of the game that they both pretended to keep playing. Flint stared at him for a few seconds while toying with one of the rings in his hand.

"Alright," he agreed.

An hour passed, Gates considered the meeting over so it was time for the food. This was the part where everybody relaxed, ate something and catch up with the neighbours they didn't see so often. There was Muldoon chatting with Logan, Dooley blushing at something that Wayne had said.

Silver stood up and when to the food table to grab a couple of cucumber sandwiches for him and Randall. Before he could go back however, Billy intercepted him.

"So, Randall told me that Flint is staying almost every day for dinner." These words on any other person could have been considered the start of some form of gossiping, but on Billy, Silver knew them to be more.

"So he told you."

"Perhaps it's not my business to mind but I think I should warn you. Flint has been in this building for a really long time, my dad is his best friend and he knows him the most. And I've got to say this, Flint is not a person who allows people to get close to him. My dad has seen people try and he has seen Flint push them away. All I'm saying is, the ones who tried to get close to them ended up with their heart broken."

"You're right," Silver agreed, his voice tight, "it's none of your business."

Billy shifted his weight, standing straighter. "However, what _is_ my business is Randall. Randall is starting to be attached to you. If you stop paying attention to him, if you leave suddenly. Well, let's just say that in _The Walrus_ we take care of our own."

Silver recognised a threat when he heard one.

"Good thing then that I'm becoming one of the men of _The Walrus_ then," Silver let the moment sit uncomfortable between them for a few seconds. "Now, if you excuse me, Randall is waiting for me."

Silver then approached Randall and gave him his sandwich. Before sitting he stared at Flint harshly, not in anger but in doubt. Was he really heading to a hopeless result, was he dooming himself to a crash? He knew that Flint was a closed off man, he also knew he was slowly open up to him. However, he could smell this aura of darkness, of tragedy, around him.

Should he really proceed forward? Was it safe for him?

But then, he remember who he was. He was John Silver, he had always landed on his two feet unscratched. This would be no different.

It was definitely not, because it was too late for him already.

They remained in silence for a few moments until Silver went for more food. Flint observed him. He saw him talk to several of the tenants, he saw him use his charming smiles, he saw relax his body to see welcoming and non-threatening. The way he charmed his way under people's skin remained him a bit of-

Flint stepped over that thought as soon as it surfaced in his mind. He wouldn't go down that road, he wouldn't.

Another hour later and the meeting was mostly over, so Silver, Randall and Flint went back to the third floor. They stopped in front of Randall's door.

"I'll just make sure that he goes to bed and I'm ready," Silver told Flint.

"Okay, just let yourself in," Flint said.

The sound of Flint's door unlocking seemed forebonding to Silver's ears. Ignoring his trepidation Silver made sure that Randall went to bed and had a glass of fresh water in his night table. He said good night and went to Flint's place.

Flint was waiting for him at his desk. Next to him, one of the chairs from the kitchen was set for him. The chair had become a fixed asset next to the desk, as it wasn't the first time that they used Flint's flat. Flint's library had proven useful to both of them.

The air was heavy, loaded with possibility, though Silver tried to act with levity. "So what philosophical incursions are we to do today?" he said, putting his laptop on the desk.

"I've been thinking for today to continue with some historical research," Flint answered. He took out a paper from a pile, in it a printed photograph. The first page of the _Meditations_ book that had belonged to Captain Frye. Flint ignored the lump that formed in his throat upon seeing the printed words.

Silver barely glanced at the paper before reciting the words that he knew by heart. "James, my truest love. Know no shame. T. H."

"Yes," Flint agreed, speaking over the unsettling feeling that hearing the words on Silver's mouth produced in him. "We should cover more ground on this to strengthen the link between Stoic philosophy and Piracy to present a stronger case for Ms. Guthrie when she adds you to the lab."

And like that, that atmosphere charged with tension and possibility had been broken. Instead, Silver found the air charged with melancholy, the fabricated professionalism doing little to cover it. He could feel the barrier that Flint had created with his professional words. He was disappointed but he wasn't one to be put down by adversity.

"I have worked a bit on that," Silver admitted.

"Did you?" Flint asked, whether he was genuinely surprised or he was mocking him, Silver didn't know.

"I did. I have a theory, but I must admit it's mostly speculation and thirst for what makes a good story."

"Do you mind sharing it with the rest of the class?" Flint asked. Despite himself, Flint could feel how he was being pulled into another one of Silver speeches. He could notice the subtle changes in his face, the muscles setting into position to deliver another one of his ideas. What bothered Flint was that he anticipated those moments, he craved to see Silver work his magic.

_For you see, words are not enough,_ he used to say, _nor the ideas behind them. It's the emotional connection what we seek._

No, not these memories, not now.

"You see, it's the idea of love and shame related. Of love put as something pure, something elevated. _´My truest love,'_ talks about an intimate connection so deep that can trespass everything, including shame. Had it been, _'my love'_ or any other endearing term, it would put this in par with any other set of lovers. Yet, _'truest'_ sets it apart. Who is this T.H. who can set love apart so well?"

Flint was making sure his face didn't show any signs of the struggles set in his interior.

"But then, shame comes into play. Why would shame sully something so true? If something is so pure to call it true, by would shame tarnish it? Unless it's not a regular love affair. It's not a stable boy running with a noble maiden into the hills. It's something more than that. Something that at the time would be considered beyond shameful, something that might have been considered devious, capable of condemning good men to death."

There was a spark in Silver's eyes while he talked, like he had forgotten he was speaking to a stone-faced Flint. As if this ignited a passion inside of Silver, the passion of talking about something bigger than yourself. It was a spark that Flint wanted to hate but was unable to.

"There's register of only one known lover of Frye. Marinda Bunker, who was once known as Marinda Harrington, wife of Thomas Harrington. A friend of James Macalister who would eventually become Captain James Frye. History says that Frye and Bunker had an affair and ran away, condemning Lord Harrington into grief and despair. Yet, as I've told you before, Frye lost so he never got the chance to write his own story. What would you say if I told you that the T.H. from the book could have been Thomas Harrington? What if Frye and Harrington hadn't been rivals but lovers?"

_See, James, T.H. just like me._

Sunlight over soft skin and whispered words.

Tender kisses and afternoon tea.

A worn-out book and trailing fingers.

_And James, just like you._

Beeping noises and cold white walls.

Screams held back and muddy boots.

A battered ship and crushed dreams.

Ever crushing shame.

"No."

"No?" Silver asked confused. "I know it's a longshot, but it makes sense."

"No, this is a mistake. I'll speak to Eleanor tomorrow, this won't work," Flint sentenced standing up and pretended to not be affected by the hurt in Silver's expression.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked, desperate to see if there was a way to salvage the bridge that was burning right before his eyes.

It was the question that disarmed him. It wasn't a "why?", it wasn't a "what did I do?", it was " _What aren't you telling me?"._ The right question to poke at his wall made of anger and make it crumble down, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

"I- I-" he paused finding support in the back of the chair. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Silver wasn't going to get anything better that night. At least, the bridge hadn't burnt entirely. He stood up, and met Flint in the eyes. "Good night," he wished before leaving.

Once in Randall's flat, Silver opened his computer. He didn't care if it later didn't match up with historical facts, he didn't care if it seemed far fetched. He needed to write it. A tragic backstory for Captain James Frye. A story about love that shouldn't be but was. A story about sunshine in an idyllic past and happiness. A story about tragedy and muddy boots in a cruel reality.

Meanwhile, that night, while Silver stayed up writing, Flint dreamt.

He dreamt of a void burning with shame. Of whispered words and held back screams, tattered books and crushed dreams.

.

The next day Silver went to the university with Randall. He had agreed on paying a visit to the lab at the start of the week. He wasn't sure if Flint would welcome him now but he needed to talk to him. He needed to see where they stood and to fix what had been broken.

He was going to wait for Flint outside of his classroom, thinking it was best that they met each other again in a public setting. Best for Flint, because it would not expose him to the vulnerability of the intimacy of an alone meeting if he was not ready. If Silver went with him to the lab it would be by his choice, it wouldn't be forced on Flint.

Also best for Silver, he had to admit. It was unlikely that in the middle of the hallway Flint would cause a scene. A part of him thought that if Flint was to reject him, to shun him away, it would be best in public, where less parts of both of them were out in the open. However, the rest of him knew it would just hurt no matter what.

He didn't like to admit that. He tried to convinced himself that all that mattered was the position in the lab that would secure him his grant and book deals. Flint was just a means to an end. But as much as he could manipulate others with his words and drive their thoughts to whatever he wanted, he was never quite that good with lying to himself no matter how much he tried.

"You are him, aren't you?" a male voice drew him out of his thoughts. Silver turned to look at the man who had spoken. He had brown hair and blue eyes that gave him an aristocratic look that was broken only by the scar that went down on his left cheek. Yet, there was something that unsettled Silver about him.

"You are John Silver the author of _Treasure Island_?" the man asked.

"Yes, I am," Silver answered offering one of the smiles that won people over.

"Would you mind if I asked you for your autograph? I'm a big fan," he announced.

"Sure," Silver said, his shoulders going slightly backwards, in the posture he assumed when he had a public. The man took a paperback copy from one of the pockets of his coat and a pen, which Silver found slightly suspicious, and handed it to him. "To whom shall I dedicated it?"

"To Rogers, please," Rogers said with a smile.

"We have to hurry," Randall said, who had memorized at what hour Flint's class finished.

Silver had briefly told Randall that he and Flint had fought and he wanted to make amends. After almost a month of having both of them regularly at dinner, Randall had gotten used to their company. He was used to being ignored and be left alone, even when Billy was looking after him. He had also been lonely before the incident, but he had had a dream and his restaurant. Now he had lost both of those things. But on those dinners, with Flint and Silver eating home made food and talking and debating, even arguing, Randall felt like he was part of something again.

He felt like he had a family.

Even if he would never say so to Silver nor Flint. He did have a reputation as a grump to maintain.

"I know, Randall. Don't worry," Silver said without looking up from the book.

"We have to hurry," Randall repeated, because really, creepy men with scars could wait.

Rogers glared at Randall before addressing Silver, sneer evident in his voice. "I was hoping you would join me over a cup of tea to discuss your book and your ideas. I would love to hear what historical facts influenced and inspired the various situations in your story. I'm sure you would enjoy the opportunity for _intelligent_ discussion."

Silver's smile froze in his face. He didn't lose it, but it acquired a cold edge, a promise of dark things. "Thank you for the offer, but I doubt that the _intelligence_ of said discussions would actually interest me. But like my friend has said, we _are_ in a time restriction, so we must leave," he finished, holding the book and pen for the other to grab.

However, Rogers did not only grabbed the book but he also gripped Silver's hands. "I must insist. I'm sure you we could find the most engaging exchanges," his voice sounded dangerous, almost menacing.

Silver was about to answer, to find a way out with words, when Randall emitted a loud prolonged fart. An awkward silence set place, awkward enough that Rogers loosened his grip on Silver, allowing Silver to step away.

"As I said, we're in a time restriction, so if you excuse us..." Silver said grabbing Randall by the shoulder and walked down the hallway. Once Rogers was out of sight, they slowed down enough to look at one another.

"You're welcome," Randall said. His mouth betrayed nothing of his amusement, but it was clear in his eyes.

This time, when Silver smiled, it was genuine.

.

Normally, on Fridays he didn't have classes, but it was the week prior to a mid-term so they had agreed on an extra class for doubts. Just an hour after lunch, but it was more than enough for the handful of students that had showed up. Idelle wasn't among them but Flint was not surprised. As of now, he was actually relieved. He didn't think he had the energy to deal with her thought-provoking questions right now. For once, he welcomed the boring and repetitive questions of the average students. Those were easy to answer.

However, the one who did show up was Idelle's boyfriend, Augustus. The boy didn't approach him, instead going to Dufresne, the new Associate Professor who had been assigned to him to replace Singleton. Students seem to like him enough, the glasses softened the look of his shaved head. It gave him a nerd aura, which in a class full of students that had decided to study _Stoic Philosophy_ out of their own volition was appreciated.

"Sir, I'm having trouble with understanding the idea of suppressing desire?" Augustus asked once he approached Dufresne. "How can that be a thing? I mean, if we suppress all desire what's to stop us for becoming sloths?"

The student that Flint was attending to was busy looking at her notes searching her next question, so Flint couldn't help but hear what Dufresne answered.

"It's not about suppressing _all_ desire, it's about suppressing _unnecessary_ desire, that desire that distract us. What's the core of our philosophy?"

"To live according to nature."

"Exactly, it's in our human nature to desire things. What we need to is differentiate those things that we are truly meant to desire. We need not to fight those desires that are in our nature, but those that oppose them."

Flint almost missed Singleton and his brutish mind, because he didn't want to think. He didn't want to think about what was his nature. He didn't want to face why he had pushed Silver away last night. Why he kept fighting him.

Was he meant to desire for Silver or was he but a distraction?

By the time the class ended he was no closer to having an answer than before.

When he stepped out of the classroom he saw Silver waiting for him. He was smirking as usual, but his smile his smile seemed to waver with tiny ripples of nervousness. Was he too afraid of facing the answer or was Flint projecting his uneasiness onto Silver?

"I hadn't thought you would come," Flint said deliberately ambiguous.

"We had an appointment," Silver answered.

Neither of them wanted to give the first step. In Silver's case because he didn't want to expose himself, in Flint's because he was unsure of what the next step should be.

He felt himself at a crossroad, blinded and lost. The voices of his past tormented him. The shame and the guilt were usual companions, it was the flicker of hope that bothered him.

He looked at Silver with that uneasy smile still on his lips and he deemed it fake, an act. He was suddenly slammed by his first memories of the man. The easy way he manipulated people. How he had tried to seduce him upon first knowing, how easily his literary agent had tricked Eleanor with flirting smiles.

Here was a man that had taken from his reach what he had pursued for years. He was now here only because it benefited him. Because he recognized in Flint a dangerous enemy so he wanted to control him with the promise of the resources from the grant. He was in this only for himself, Flint would do well to remember it.

At this moment, Flint resented Silver and what he represented. He was but a snake with a silver tongue tempting him out of his path. He was ashamed to have ever fallen into its trap. But like Odysseus, he would wax his ears to sail this dangerous waters.

"Well, Mr. Silver, I think we have work to do."

From now on, their relationship would be strictly professional, he would not let himself be deviated again.

.

Silver's plan had not worked. Although it had avoided any chance for a scene, the rejection had hurt. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable and this was his price. He felt shaken and stunned. Like a cannon explosion and debris everywhere in a sinking ship. But he had managed to school his expression fast so it wouldn't give away how much it affected.

Already his brain was recalculating, adjusting to a new plan. It Flint wanted a partnership he would give him that, but Silver would still obtain what he wanted. It had been a game until now, but it had turned into a challenge. He would not comply just like that without getting back some kind of upper hand.

"After you," he said with a smile that did not longer waver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is how this went:  
> Me: Okay, UST and cuteness, this is an Everybody Lives Happy AU after all. Maybe some plot moving fowards but _that's_ it.  
>  Brain: Yeah sure, believe that if you want to.  
> Me: See nothing big in there, now we only need to write hot moments and UST.  
> Brain:...  
> Me: Don't you do it  
> Brain:...  
> Me: I'm warning you  
> Brain: NOPE! Angst  
> Me: Goddammit, okay, but that's it, this is a HAPPY AU they're going to be fine after this. Also, are you sure you want to keep this in now that the chapter is more heavy.  
> Brain: Yes.  
> Me: Really? Are you really really sure?  
> Brain: Yes. Fart joke. Now.  
> Me: Okay, okay. Now, see, this here is going to be what propells them to be fine  
> Brain: NOPE! Angst  
> Me: But--  
> Brain: AAAAAANGST  
> Brain: And some more coffee please


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Look back over the past,_   
>  _with its changing empires that rose and fell,_   
>  _and you can foresee the future too."_
> 
> _-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

" _You shit," Frye had said._

_Yes, he was doing it because it was the option that gave him the biggest chance for survival – even if it still was far more closer to zero than what he would like – but he was also doing it to prove something. A part of him wanted to prove himself to Frye, to show him that he was more than just a liar and a thief. He was more than that._

_Yes, he was in this for himself and he_ would _betray Frye if it served best his interest. Gold wasn't a person to be blindly loyal to someone. That didn't make him a traitor. He was more than that._

" _You shit," Frye had said._

_It had stirred something in Gold. That ridiculous man that wouldn't pursue an escape but would still try to take a fucking warship all by himself._ _That man with ideals bigger than the sea that constantly tried to drown him._

" _That was easy," Gold said after finally climbing inside the warship._

_Suddenly, Gold found himself with Frye hand over his mouth while he silently warned him about the sleeping men hanging from their hammocks. Gold got the message._

_They were passing between the hammocks when he saw it, the gold whistle hanging from one of the columns next to a sleeping Spaniard. Carefully, Gold stretched himself over the hammock to grab it, and he had almost succeeded when the Spaniard opened his eyes and looked straight up at him. Gold didn't even have time to whisper a broken "No," when Frye was already over the man sliding a knife through his throat._

_As soon as they were out of the sleeping quarters, Frye grabbed Gold and pushed him against a wall with a knife against his throat._

" _Wait," Gold pleaded._

" _You almost got us killed," Frye sneered._

" _Almost, almost" Gold argued._

" _For a fucking bauble," Frye interrupted him._

" _It's a boatswain's whistle," he rushed to explain while rising the whistle for Frye to look at. "Doesn't it make more sense for us to prompt the lookout to come down, than for us to go up after him?"_

_But Frye still exuded anger from every pore, even after realizing that Gold's plan was logical._

" _You are truly amazing, you know that?" Gold whispered indignant. "We're both better off now than we were two minutes ago, yet you're angry about it because it didn't happen your way."_

.

Silver wrote, venting the frustrations of the past two weeks. It felt good to have the character that resembled him the most spit truths at the character that resembled Flint so much. It was said that writing could be cathartic, and Silver wasn't sure he believe that, but he had to admit that at the moment, it did help him. To him, writing had always been about getting inside other people's head, not his own. But as of now, well, he thought no harm would come of putting a bit of himself onto the paper.

He had never been one to hold grudges. Grudges clouded people's mind and clouded their thoughts provoking them to make irrational decisions and mistakes. Silver had always prided himself on his smartness and always deciding what best for himself with a cold mind. It wasn't that he hadn't manage every once in a while to get revenge on someone that had wronged him, if the opportunity was there he took it. But his resentment had never taken most of his mind till the point he couldn't think straight.

Not until Flint.

He realized, many things in him had been different until Flint.

He still had half an hour that he intended to use to write before he had to take Randall to therapy and then go to see Flint at his lab. Since that encounter in Flint's flat, the home visits had been over. Flint would only have him at his lab or not at all. Their relationship had remained strained, staying only onto the professional. No more teasing flirting, no more talks about philosophical arguments unless it was work related. No more dinners, no more warm. Only cold professionalism. But event the professional aspect of their relationship was cracked, the easy flow of their exchanges had been cut short and taut. There was nothing between them to arise the creativity and inspiration. Only cold and boring research.

Silver was starting to hate meeting up with Flint. It seemed like a chore. Like one of those 9-to-5 office jobs he had always avoided.

Silver was tired of those deep green eyes looking at him coldly.

He glanced at the clock, he still had twenty minutes. Twenty more minutes.

.

Flint had to get away right now. He couldn't stand being in his lab were Silver was. His presence like a beacon, a beacon he did not welcome. He needed a break, a break from all the feelings that Silver evoked in him, a break from fighting against them. So claiming he had left some important papers in his classroom desk, he left. The excuse was lame and Silver could probably identified for what it was. However, it wasn't his problem whether Silver could notice his lie or not.

He was searching through his desk for papers that could help him pretend he did had a reason for leaving, when he heard a knock on his open door. He looked up surprised that someone was searching for him now. For a split a second he thought it could have been some students with doubts about the correction of the mid-term, what he definitely didn't expect was to see Vane.

He was already on the end of his nerves because of Silver, seeing Vane did him no favours.

"What do you want?" he sneered.

"Oh, I just wanted to talk," he said. "I was surprised when I got a mail from your new pet asking for my collaboration."

"You what?" Flint asked before he could catch himself and hide his shock from his face.

Vane's lips pulled into a predatory smile upon seeing Flint's reaction.

"Oh, he didn't tell you? Did he write to me behind your back?" Vane gloated and his steps were heavy though still graceful while he walked into the classroom. "Jack received a mail yesterday asking him for my opinion in certain aspects of the pirate war. Silver promised in return to feature my name in some of yours papers. Of course, I couldn't pass the opportunity to have on paper that you have asked for my help," he clearly enjoyed provoking Flint's anger. "Of course, that was until now when I noticed he didn't consult you. Nor that my satisfaction would be any less. So tell me, is your dog straying away from you?"

Flint rose huffing in one swift motion.

"Get the fuck away from my classroom,"

"That's rude," he declared. "After all, I'm just being a good co-worker and wanted to pass by to see when it would be more suitable for you to meet up," Vane said with a teasing smile.

"You'll stay the fuck away from me or my lab, or else," Flint said with a tone loaded with hate, raising his voice. He had taken another dangerous step towards Vane, clearly struggling to hold himself back.

"Is that a threat?" Vane asked, inviting him with every word to start a fight.

"Gentlemen, is everything alright?" Eleanor's voice suddenly said from the door.

"Yes, Ellie, we were just discussing how we could do some collaborations together," Vane explained giving Eleanor a self-assured smile.

"Is that so?" Eleanor asked not convinced. She knew about the animosity between both of them.

"Yes," Flint agreed. He could feel the control for his work, his life, slipping away further away from him. He was no longer safe in his building because _he_ was there, _he_ was also there in his lab. And now he was letting his enemies enter his work circle. He was a threat to everything he had built. Flint would find that traitorous backstabbing little shit and he would give him a piece of his mind.

.

When he got back into his lab, the little shit was sitting in front of his laptop, writing in it as if he had done nothing wrong. With no warning words, he grabbed Silver by the front of his shirt and dragged him to the closest wall, the chair falling to the floor in the process.

"Hey, hey, hey," Silver complained to the rough handling.

"The fuck game do you think you're playing at?" Flint asked him while he grabbed Silver by the throat.

"Let me explain," Silver said with a laboured breath.

"You won't even try to deny it," Flint scoffed. "What the fuck you were you thinking when you went to Vane?" he basically shouted at him, though he tried to keep his voice down so they wouldn't hear him from the near labs.

"Look, we're lacking some historical facts into our research. We have most of Frye's motives but we're still lacking some of his strategy. We need to know why did he ultimately failed. We need to know if he was defeated or if he surrounded to have a solid argument," Silver explained, but unlike so many times when he explained something, this time his voice lacked the passion. Flint almost missed it and that angered him even more. "Look, all Vane is going to get is his name in one or two papers. He won't get any money and this will convince the UL that our partnership is a good one," he paused looking at an unconvinced Flint. "This might not be the only time we are going to need help from other departments, and we can't just stay stuck in our research because you have a personal feud with some of them."

Gone was that playful tone from Silver, gone were the smirks and gone was the calculating spark from his eyes. Instead, Silver now seemed a tired man with frustrations under his eyes. But that did not relent Flint mistrust of him.

Silver huffed, annoyed and one hundred percent done.

"What have I ever done to you to deserve your mistrust?" he was furious, but most importantly, he was letting all the hurt out. "I never lied to you, I was always honest with you. All I ever did to you was won the same post that you wanted and needed a job that happened to be right next to you. I have even found a way to help you out. And most importantly, I'm still here despite you trying to push me away. Despite you treating me like shit for two weeks."

"Don't play the victim it doesn't suit you," Flint spat at Silver. "It's not like mine is the only lab you could get to work in, so what do you want from me?"

"To help you," Silver answered

"Don't come to me pretending to be all altruistic when you've manipulated your way through here," Flint scorned. "You wouldn't be here if you haven't played Eleanor with your agent."

"For _both_ our benefits."

"But you're still a manipulative bastard," Flint sneered looking down at him.

Silver's blue eyes glinted with fury.

"Yes," he admitted. "That's my way. It's how I learned to survive when I was alone in an orphanage and no one soul gave a single fuck about whether I lived or I died. So, yes, I manipulate people and I won't start apologizing for it to you. However, I have not once manipulated you. I may have tried at first but you're too clever by half, and I haven't tried ever since."

"Don't lie to me, you never stopped trying to seduce me," Flint spat at Silver.

"Do you truly believe that I was trying to manipulate you all this time with it?" and there was some hurt in Silver's voice that Flint tried to ignore.

His silence was answer enough though.

Silver defensive stance dropped, the fight left him. "Just- just let me go," he said, pushing Flint away, though there was no force in it. Flint released him and watched dumbstruck how he collected his things. Silver stopped when he got to the door, his bag in his hand.

He sighed, and barely turning his face, he spoke: "If you finally decide that we're better off as partners than rivals, you know where to find me."

With that, he left, leaving Flint standing alone in the middle of a cold lab.

.

Silver didn't know why it had hurt so much that Flint thought he had been trying to manipulate him all the time. Well, actually he did know. The thing was, he had never cared. He had never cared if someone saw through his manipulation. He had never cared what others thought of said manipulation, granted not many people ever found out.

But most importantly, he had never cared so much that someone actually believed he was not manipulating them. He had never _wanted_ to be honest with someone before. Flint's distrust hurt him although maybe he deserved it.

There was a knock on his door that ignited a flame of hope inside of Silver. He put it off immediately, he had had enough sting for a lifetime.

He was not exactly surprised when he saw Flint on the other side of the door, what did surprised him was the unguarded expression he had.

"I- Mayb- Would you like to have dinner?" Flint asked.

On any other time, Silver would have appreciated more a stuttering Flint.

"Are you asking me out?" he said with a tired smile.

"Actually..." and was that Flint blushing? "Actually I was thinking of preparing dinner once more. I feel guilty to have left you and Randall to fend off of your cooking for so long."

"Oh, here you are, insulting me already," though the humour in his voice wasn't reflected in his eyes. "What would you be cooking?"

Flint wouldn't stop fidgeting with the rings on his hand. "I was thinking spaghetti with tomato sauce."

That caught Silver's interest, and his eyes were suddenly a little bit less tired. He recognized what it meant coming from Flint, it was more than just the dinner. It was Flint's way of apologizing. It was also Flint's way of saying that he wanted to move things forward.

"Professor Flint, you are a romantic," Silver said and moved away from the door to let Flint in.

When Randall saw Flint going into the kitchen he couldn't help but smile. Not only he would get his dinners back but also, Silver's blue mood might finally lift.

Since the incident with Rogers, Silver had started talking more with him. He would talk and Randall would listen, occasionally he would answer with a short sentence or a telling silence. Silver would tell him about Ronald, the character he was writing inspired in him in his novel. Sometimes he would even read him passages and Randall would laugh whenever his character farted.

But that wasn't what was important. What really mattered to Randall was than when he talked, Silver paid attention to him.

So Randall was glad to see Flint return, for Silver.

Silver let Flint cook in silence for only a few minutes. "I appreciate what you're saying with your cooking, but I still feel the need to ask. I need to know so I can stop it from happening again in the future, or at the very least, to prepare myself before it happens. I need to know, what happened the other night? Why did you push me away?"

The muscles in Flint's shoulders tensed. He knew this would come, that he couldn't even try to make amends without talking about what had happened. It still didn't make it any easier. Flint wanted to tell him, but his lips wouldn't give, instead they were drew in a tight line.

"I need to know where you and I stand. Please, tell me what happened the other night?" But Flint still wouldn't, couldn't answer. "Was it something I did?"

It was that vulnerable, almost desperate, edge in Silver's voice what finally untied Flint's tongue.

"No."

Flint was with his back towards Silver, otherwise he would have seen the relief that was plainly written on Silver's face and that would've made all of his final defences come crushing down.

"What was it, then?"

"I- Those words-" God, this was hard. "They carry a special meaning for me. There was someone-" he hesitated, he didn't knew how to continue, but Silver waited for him to continue talking in a patient silence. "He- he was the one who introduced me to Meditations, he was the one who first told me about those words, he-" the lump in Flint's throat made him stop.

"What was his name?" Silver ask, there was empathy in his words but not pity.

Flint turned and stared at him in the eyes, he understood what Silver was telling him. Maybe the ghosts of his past wouldn't weight him down so much if he shared them.

"His name was Thomas," and this was already sharing too much.

"Oh," Silver said softly, understanding the entirety of what had transpired the other night. He could understand now how his words had triggered Flint. "What happened to him?"

Flint doubted about what to say. This wasn't just about trust anymore, this was about something more. He wanted to share it with Silver, but it wasn't just about him. But he wouldn't lie to him, he resolved. After seeing Silver leave the lab, after seeing him hide his hurt and put on the mask he used for everyone else, he had made his decision. He would trust Silver. He owe him that much at least.

"There was a car accident, he fell into a coma," he said staring at the floor. Slowly, he raised his eyes because he couldn't be alone when he said what came next. "He passed away a few years ago."

Silver just looked a him for several seconds before finally saying, "I'm sorry." It was so honest that it made Flint feel a little lighter.

However, inside of Silver there was a tinge of worry. He recalled what he had wrote two weeks ago, about a James losing his Thomas. What he wrote and what Flint had told him were eerily similar. What else was similar? Was what Flint wasn't telling him yet also similar to Frye's backstory? He thought of the scene he had wrote this morning and their confrontation at the lab.

If Flint shared Frye's backstory of lost love, did that mean- could that be that Frye and Gold's tragic story was to be repeated with them? It was crazy, but Silver couldn't help to wonder.

Silver had ahead of him dangerous waters if that was the case.

Behind them, a hiss came from one of the burners.

"It looks like you burned the sauce," Silver said and he couldn't help to smile teasingly, that tension that had crept up in him diffusing with the distraction.

Flint stared at disbelief at the burnt sauce and then at Silver's smug and he couldn't help but laugh. Silver first looked at him as if he was insane for a while until he started laughing too. Flint hadn't laugh that much for many, many years. Each guffaw dissolved one of the stones that had settled in his heart over the past two weeks. Even some of the past years.

When they had calmed down, Silver said a simple "let me," and Flint watched amazed how he begun preparing the sauce himself.

"How-?"

"I did learn from watching you, I am not that much of a hopeless case. I just-" he paused, and it seemed today was a day for confessions. "I just didn't want for you to not have an excuse to stay."

A warmth spread through Flint's chest.

"So," Silver said matter-of-factly, uncomfortable, clearly wanting to change the subject, "what topic are we going to go through today?"

"No, I don't need an excuse anymore."

.

Dinner was over and Randall had gone to bed. Flint lingered in the living room, afraid to leave. There was still an air of hesitance around Silver, like he was still wary of him. He deserved it of course, but he was afraid that should he leave he would not be welcome tomorrow. They were drinking a coffee while watching some B-movie on the TV.

The cup was empty and he should take it to the kitchen, but that would be the signal for leaving, so instead, Flint searched for a place to put it down. His eyes went to the desk, next to the sofa, where Silver's computer was. In it, there were messy-written papers and several books.

"You read _The Odyssey_?" Flint asked surprised leaving the cup on the desk and grabbing the book.

"Well, I am writing about a man's epic quest across the sea. I need to have some knowledge of classic literature," Silver said, "I fail to see why the surprise?"

Flint raised an eyebrow. There was the teasing banter, the spark of mischief in Silver that he now was more willing to admit that he had missed. As such, he spoke with a smirk.

"So you say that Frye is like Odysseus?"

"He is indeed," Silver said a smile gracing his lips. Flint could hear the first notes of one of his speeches, and maybe Silver was still a siren, but Flint now welcomed his song. "Taken away from his home, destined to return home by the gods but doomed to suffer by the sea. Ten years navigating just like our captain. Just like our captain, it's not just his strength, his dexterity in battle what puts him through, it's his determination and cunning. Both destined to find peace after losing everything, including their crew."

"Frye died, is that what you call peace?" Flint asked, intrigued and marvelled.

"For Frye, probably. He was a man tormented by the shadows of his past. Is it that strange to think that maybe for him, death would have been a desired outcome. However, that isn't what I'm referring to. Maybe, right before his death, Frye was able to find his peace. Like Odysseus, Frye desired a home. Maybe he did find it right before the end."

"How?" Flint asked. "How could he when the people he loved had died?" and the question was more personal than what he would have wanted.

"Do you really believe that Frye didn't love anyone else?" Silver said, a distant part of him was aware that once again the similarities of the past may cast their shadow in the present. But as a passionate writer, he was lost in the realm of possibilities, of 'what if's and parallels. "I'm starting to believe that Frye's Ithaca is not about a place but about finding his equal, his Penelope. His match in wits and determination. I believe that role might have been fulfilled by Gold."

Flint looked at him in disbelief before smiling widely. "Tell me, if I open your computer, am I going to find your Livejournal talking about Kirk and Spock's homoerotic subtext?"

Silver smiled back, though he was still a bit lost in the writer's realm. "No," he said quickly, "though the subtext _is_ real, FYI," he added. "The consensus is that Gold was the only man that Frye respected, feared. In any words he was his equal, just as Penelope was Odysseus' equal."

"But Odysseus didn't fear Penelope," Flint argued.

"What makes a man fear more than an emotion that they cannot reign? What makes a fighter fear more than a need that tides them down, that exposes a weakness? Great men fear love."

.

_Three days ago, the crew would have liked to have him and Frye overboard. Now, the crew were hanging to his every word, waiting to what he would say. Now, Frye was once again captain. Now, they were partners, working together after one treasure. He was not his equal, not yet, but Gold knew that he was in his way to becoming one. That before the end, Frye and him would see each other eye to eye._

_He gave three stumps against the deck. It was echoed by a big portion of the men._

_They didn't respect him, not yet, they just needed him, something that Gold considered way more important. He distracted them with the ongoing rumours of the ship, distracted them of their dislike of him by making them remember how much they actually disliked each other. There was more in his announcements than just making the crew need him, it was also about making Frye need him._

_He now had the ear of the crew. He could now, with his silver-tongue slip in the right words with the right tone and mould the mood of the crew to his liking. Frye only had to ask for it and Gold would see it done. He was now Frye's confident and he had to hide a smile at the thought._

_Three stumps. "Next item," he announced._

_And all it had taken him to do it was one foot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all I gotta say: OMG I think the Penelope parallel may apply to the actual show OMG.  
> Some announcements, sadly I think next chapter won't be available until December, my mum's coming at the end of the week and I won't be able to write with her here. I'll do my best to try to see if I can do it before she comes, but I reaaaaaally doubt it. (Actually it was one announcement)  
> And hey, at least I didn't kept pushing the salmon reference... For now! Dun, dun, dun!  
> Also, foreshadowing!! Dun, dun, dun!!  
> Hope you liked it.  
> Flor out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No one can lose either the past or the future,_   
>  _how could anyone be deprived of what he does not possess?_
> 
> _– Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

"You're becoming quite a good cook," Flint commented. The dishes were empty, even Randall's, who had voiced no complains in so far.

"I'm starting to believe you're just stroking my ego, so I'll continue cooking for you. Tell me, Flint, are you slacking?," Silver asked in a flirty tone.

Flint said nothing.

"You know, I've learned from Randall that silences are affirmations, so it isn't really helping your case, isn't that right, Randall?"

Randall said nothing.

"See?" he said while standing up to put the dishes into the washbasin. "You should at least wash the dishes," Silver complained lightly.

"Later, after a coffee," Flint said stretching out his arms.

"Alright, then let me see Randall to bed while you prepare it."

With a grunt, Flint got up to do as Silver had asked. He heard amused how they bickered while he carried the coffee to the living room. On the sofa, Silver had settled for an Italian film. They drank their coffee and discussed the themes and message of the Julius Ceasar's adaptation they were watching. After a while, the cups laid empty on the floor, but the conversation remained strong.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's always this way," Silver reflected. "If men who seek to change the world are always doomed to be betrayed by a world that does not want to change."

"Sometimes, I'm afraid so," Flint answered looking at the floor, the shadows of his past once more at his back. "But at least, these men will always have people who survive them, who'll do justice in their names, and use words to tell their story."

"Yes, they do make material for great stories," Silver agreed. "But what about the person behind the story? What about the people who loved them? The ones who stayed behind who now have to carry the burden of their loved one's unfinished work?"

"Maybe they'll have to find comfort on what they did share," Flint contributed, and had they been sitting this close to each other since the beginning.

"Maybe, you're right," Silver agreed, and yes, Silver was definitely slowly moving closer. "Maybe all one can do is to focus on the present."

If Flint had any doubt that Silver was no longer talking about the philosophical idea then it went away when he saw Silver's eyes drop to his lips. Flint wanted to rush in and close the gap, wanted to move forward and feel those lips that had been tempting him for so long against his. He wanted to so much. But the shadows of his past still weighted him down on his shoulders, and the secrets kept him rooted in his place.

He couldn't move forward with Silver without telling him about his past. Silver deserved to know the whole truth, so he could choose. He needed to be aware before he damned himself with the Poseidon's curse that Flint carried. But his past wasn't his to tell. It wasn't that simple.

Silver's eyes moved up to lock with his, Flint saw the openness, the vulnerability in them that he was being allowed to witness and his mind formed a resolution.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he said, and before Silver's face could fully transform into an expression of hurt, he continued. "I want to, I just- I need to do something before."

Silver moved back, his expression guarded.

"What is it?"

"I need to do something," Flint spoke more firmly. "I need to do something and I'll be back."

But Silver's face was still guarded.

"I swear to you, I'll be back," and he kissed Silver's forehead before leaving.

.

Once again, he was knocking at her door at midnight and as always, she answered tolerantly and kindly. But unlike last time, Flint's face didn't reflect distress. There was still conflict between himself, there was still this drive he had whenever he searched for Miranda's company. But there was also determination; a determination, that for once, didn't have a gloomy air in it.

"What is it?" Miranda asked, surprised to see this forgotten side of Flint.

"There's something I have to tell you," he said. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Miranda replied, she was surprised but she recognized the gravity in Flint's voice. She prepared some tea, and set the cups on the kitchen's table. "What is it that you have to tell me?"

Flint took a sip of his tea to buy some time for himself. He was sure he wanted to share this with her, but he was also nervous. There was always the possibility that Miranda would disapprove of it, resent him for it. The chance was slim and it bordered on ridiculous, but it was there, stilling the words in Flint's throat. But he was a courageous man, so he swallowed his fear and started talking.

"Almost two months ago, a new neighbour arrived to The Walrus."

So he told her about how he had first met Silver as Randall's caretaker and how he had later found out he had won the post. He omitted how he had threatened him, but he did tell how they had decided to start working together. He told her about the long afternoons discussing philosophy and literary resources. He struggled to tell her about how Silver's words had triggered them. He told her how they had put aside their differences and fixed their relationship.

But most importantly, he told her about what had just happened. He told her how he wanted to reach out but he had been unable to. How he couldn't go on with Thomas' still as a shadow.

And Miranda listened, she did not judge him. Her face remained neutral for most of it, only until the very end when a soft smile graced her white features.

"You are in love," she said.

"No, I-" he didn't want to deny it, but it seemed so much so soon. "I don't know if to call it that."

"How else would you call it?" she asked, her voice like velvet.

"I don't know," he confessed.

"You know that this is what Thomas would have wanted, don't you? That this is what I have wanted for you for a very long time."

"I do," Flint sighed, his eyes low, ashamed even if he wasn't sure of what.

"Then go, go and tell him everything. Tell him about me, about Thomas, about who you were, about who we all were. Go and tell him how you feel."

"It's dangerous," Flint argued. "He's not exactly an honest person, he lied to get his job with Randall, he has manipulated people."

"Do you trust him?" and for the first time, Miranda's voice turned stern.

Flint hesitated, but when he spoke, his voice was firm. "Yes."

"Then go."

Here was his mast untying the ropes and telling him to not heed the warnings and jump straight into the sea to the siren's song. So Flint would jump, but first, he would sing a song of his own.

He knocked at Randall's door, and Silver answered it. His hair was messy and he wore a loose T-shirt and shorts, as if despite Flint's promise to return he had gone to bed, not wanting to wait on an empty promise that would not be held. However, he seemed fully aware, as if sleep had eluded him.

They went once more to the sofa, where Flint sat next to him facing him as much as he could.

"There's something I have to tell you," he said, "the full story of who I am."

"I'm listening," Silver said enraptured already.

"Ten years ago, my name was James McGraw."

.

It was a grey day, as it usually was in London. Police Detective James McGraw was writing the reports of his latest wave of arrest. Though still new in the position, he was soon to become one of the officers with the largest number of successfully closed cases. If he kept the pace, soon, he might see himself turned into a captain.

Speaking of which, his captain, Captain Hennessey, approached his desk.

"Detective McGraw, I'll need you to clear the desk," he said in a serious tone.

"What? I-" James said distressingly astonished.

"Relax, McGraw," Hennessey laughed. "You've just been assigned to a top case, and you'll be working somewhere else."

James relaxed visibly, but some tension remained in his shoulders. Something told him that his life was about to change.

"Come to my office and I'll explain you the details."

So James went after Hennessey who locked the door behind him and closed the curtains. "What do you know about Ned Low and his criminal network."

"That he's the leader of a high profile ring of criminals. Their crimes range from murder and torture to drug trafficking. So far they have eluded capture, the only ones of their ring that we've been able to capture had little to no information to contribute to the case."

"That's correct," Hennessey agreed. "It has also been suspected that they're connected to high people in the government and police forces to elude capture. Prosecutor Thomas Hamilton has been investigating it for a long time, and he has solicited someone from our police ranks to help him with the investigation. As such, I have elected my best man to help him."

Before James could say anything about how he doubted to be up to for such a top case, Hennessey continued. "He's waiting for you tomorrow in his office. I have to warn you though, it's a dangerous case, you might stir some people, so be careful," he said handing him a card with fancy penmanship and gold ink. James grabbed it astonished and with no words. "I would not have chosen you if I didn't thought you were capable, James," Hennessey said softening his voice and offering him a fatherly smile.

.

It was another grey day, though grey wasn't the right word to describe it. It was a day with a white sky, a day were the light was so strong that it irradiated everything.

"Come in," Thomas Hamilton said from the inside of his office after James had knocked.

"Good morning, Mr. Hamilton," James greeted him, he was slightly nervous, the place was extremely elegant so James, with his humble, hard-working origins felt out of place. "I've been assigned by Captain Hennessey on your case."

"I'm aware of it, pleased to meet you," Thomas said extending a hand that James shook. "Please, take a sit, we have things to discuss."

Thomas, sat on his chair at the desk, lying back against it but still with an elegant posture. "As you may have known Low and his men had long since been terrorizing the streets of London. Men like my father in the Senate would like to see the streets clean so as to not lose the popular vote, therefore, they are willing to provide me with limited resources for the task. Thus, I have asked for you."

"But before we continue there's something I need to ask you. I have researched about you and seen your records. You have fast tracked through the positions from a low beat cop to a detective. This investigation we'll probably mean going after several big fish in the government. Tell me, Detective, are you willing to risk your career to clean the streets of London?"

"Sir, with all due respect, that's what I've been trying to do since I signed to become a police officer."

Thomas smiled. "Then I guess we can continue."

.

After an entire day of discussing criminality and politics with Thomas, it was no longer a grey day. There was a woman walking towards him, outside of Thomas' office.

"I recognize the look on your face," she said.

"Pardon me?" James asked.

"You have just met Thomas," she said. "I remember what's it like to meet him for the first time and get a glimpse at his great mind and even bigger ideals," she paused for a few seconds. "I'm Miranda Hamilton," she introduced herself extending a hand.

.

"Forget about the criminals for a while, what would you say is the problem?" Thomas asked.

"Corruption for starters. Politicians turning either a blind eye to the issue or accepting bribes to facilitate their way. Cops leaving no man's land and hindering investigations. Judges, media, you name it. Then it's lack of equal job opportunity. The discrimination that puts glass ceilings because of gender, race, sexuality, etcetera, that pushes them into illegal lifestyles. It's the difference in education that contributes to inequality. It's classism- and for real, Thomas, if you want to eliminate the problem from the root you're going to need a goddamn miracle or to become Prime Minister."

"I'm aware that it's a difficult task, James, but it's not the ones who were deterred why what it was thought to be impossible that changed the world."

"You do realize that for every person that has managed to change the world for the better, there were hundreds who failed along the way?" James asked.

"Are you telling me that you are afraid of failure, Detective McGraw?" Thomas inquired with a teasing smile.

"Indeed not," James answered. "I'm merely wondering about those who failed and what they lost along the way."

Before Thomas could answer, Miranda opened the door carrying a tray with two tea cups.

"I was starting to worry that with all that debating you may risk dehydration," she said tenderly looking both at James and Thomas.

But then, her gaze focused on James and he did not miss the flirting smile she sent his way.

.

"This is not okay," James complained.

Miranda was standing too close to him, her body insinuating itself upon him, her lips mere inches away from his.

"James, you have been welcomed into our household for a long time now. Do you really still think that we're a marriage that likes to go for the conventional?" she said, her tone soft and her eyes predatory.

"I guess not," he said and then closed the gap that separated them.

.

"James," Thomas said with a desperate air, "I need your help."

"What do you want me to do?" James asked worried.

"I need you to talk me out of this."

"Out of what?"

"James, my dad is going to come to have dinner with us tonight." Thomas was pacing, he was nervous, frantic. "You haven't met my dad personally, but Miranda and I told you enough about him. He's a stern conservationist man," he paused, as if he was garnering courage. "Today, I'm going to ask him for his support on my case."

"I don't see how that would be a problem," James asked confused. "We have a solid case with enough evidence to put several of them behind bars."

"Those are low-grade criminals, they don't matter," Thomas corrected him hastily.

"Even the ones in the Senate?" James questioned even more than surprised.

"Yes." Thomas said as if he was begging him to silence him. "For you see, James, I'm going after the Deputy Prime Minister."

"You what?"

"I have the evidence. I have documentation, and e-mails between William Rhett and Ned Low. There's calls and bank transactions. There _is_ enough evidence, that's not the problem."

"It'll create a scandal," James exhaled.

"Exactly, that's the issue," Thomas admitted. "It'll shake the entire country, if we want to be successful, we'll need support. We'll need support to stop the case from turning into just a media fight and we'll need support to avoid being buried by it. I know how risky it is, how dangerous, but James, if we do this right it could be our biggest chance of cleansing London," Thomas said with such fervour in his eyes.

James sighed. "I'll be with you."

.

Everyone at the table, save for Lord Alfred Hamilton, was anxious.

"You seem to have a strong case against a big part of criminal ring, yet you failed to mention how will you bring down their boss, Ned Low." Lord Hamilton said.

Thomas looked at James for support while Miranda shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I do have strong evidence against him," Thomas said clearly and firmly. "Evidence that also links him with high men in the Office."

"Links him with whom?" Lord Hamilton said while cutting another piece of the beef.

"With William Rhett," was Thomas' resolute answer.

Lord Hamilton lowered his cutlery.

"You plan to dirty the Deputy Prime Minister in this?"

"You've asked me to clean the streets of London, and it's what I'm doing."

"I asked you to clean the streets, not the Office. What you're trying to do will put as traitors to the Crown. They'll drag our name and say that we're attempting a coup," Lord Hamilton argued rising his voice.

"This is the best way to get rid of the biggest criminal network in London," Thomas insisted. "We have support, Senator Ashe is willing to provide help as well as the people he has behind him. We won't be alone in doing what's right."

Lord Hamilton snorted. "You're a detective," he said to James, "surely you could tell me—"

"Your fight is with me, so address me," Thomas complained.

"You see, Detective, I spoiled my son. I gave him too much liberty in what books to read. I let him read too many heroic fantasies, so much, that now he believes he's the hero in one of them. I let-"

"Are you truly me accusing me for doing what's right?" Thomas interrupted him, now raising his voice too. "Haven't you always insisted me that I should abide to the morals of the Bible? So tell me, father, aren't the morals of the Bible to fight for what's right? Or are the only morals you care about the ones who further your own personal agenda?"

"That's enough!" Lord Hamilton screamed. "I don't want to hear you anymore!"

"No," Thomas agreed, "that has always been the problem."

James and Miranda felt like awkward spectators in the silence that followed.

"Tell me, Detective, I am right to interpret your silence as approval of this insane plan?"

James once more, shifted uncomfortable in his sit, unsure of what to say, so Miranda spoke for him.

"He knows and has advise us of the risks but he-"

"Will you shut at least your damn mouth seeing how you can't even shut your damn legs!" Lord Hamilton shouted.

James rose from his sit, anger barely contained.

"Your son speaks about rightness while you speak of cowardice. To be honest, sir, right now I find your arguments repulsive and I believe it will be best if you retire."

Lord Hamilton looked at Thomas, who still stared at him defiantly and, throwing his handkerchief on the table, left muttering to himself. The pregnant silence lasted for a few more seconds.

"Did you really just kicked out my father?" Thomas huffed, his face torn between incredulity, hilarity and worry. "I appreciate it, but this will come to bit us in the arse later."

But James was not worried about that right now, with his voice laced with emotion he spoke: "You're a good man, Thomas, and you shouldn't receive this kind of abuse. Not from him, not from anyone. Neither of you should."

Thomas stood up, a sweet smile gracing his lips. He walked towards James and put a hand on his left shoulder. James thought that he was going to say thank you to him, but then Thomas' hand moved up to cover his cheek and the message was undeniable. James was taken aback for a second, suddenly a whole world of possibilities he had never dared to consider lay before him. And as Thomas' soft lips touched his, he couldn't deny how natural and right it felt.

Because that's the thing about bisexuality, unless there's a strong pull towards the same sex, there's always room for deniability. One could always argue that it isn't attraction, but admiration, envy, anything that can justify it. And James had done that, he had disguised his feelings with admiration and friendship. Now the veil had been removed, but instead of being shattering and confusing, it felt as soft and natural as a new-born butterfly drying its wings under the morning sun.

On Thomas' lips, James found a home.

.

"Did you see this?" Thomas asked, his laptop lying over his chest.

James was sitting on the bed already, about to get up and prepare some snacks for them.

Thomas didn't wait for James' reply. "They've found a dedicatory in a Meditations book from one of the most fearsome pirates of all," he said excitedly.

James laughed. "How do you find all that obscure trivia?"

"It's not obscure nor a trivia, it's a scientific discovery," Thomas defended himself.

"You're a nerd," James laughed crawling back into bed to lay over Thomas' side, careful not to push the computer.

"Yeah, but you're in love with a nerd then," Thomas replied welcoming James in his arms but otherwise maintaining his attention on his laptop.

"Yes, I am," James sighed contently.

The sun that filtered through the open windows bathed Thomas in it's light, making his blonde hair radiant like a peaceful beacon for lost souls. James loved to watch him in moments like this, where he was enraptured by something he was passionate about. He liked to pretend it bored him, but he loved to hear Thomas talking about stoic philosophy, about utopian ideals and fate.

"James, my truest love, know no shame, T. H." Thomas read from his laptop.

James only hummed to signal he was listening.

"See, James, T. H. just like me," he told him. "And James, just like you."

"A nice coincidence," James said deliberately.

"No, eternal recurrence," Thomas said making James' smile for how he had taken the bait.

James, watched him talk, enamoured of the way that Thomas went on and on with his ideas, with the shifts in his tone when the passion was too much, with the way his mouth curved with words.

.

James entered the room and the first thing he saw was Miranda smiling deviously.

"What's happening?" James asked, slightly perturbed.

"Nothing to worry about, my dear," it was Thomas who answered, from a corner of the room sitting in a chair.

"What are you two plotting?" James inquired, because he knew something was coming, and he wasn't sure how much he was going to like it.

"Thomas has something for you," Miranda said, and her smile turned even more devilish.

"Thank you for going straight to the point, darling," Thomas said trying to sound angry but failed epically. "This is for you," he said handing him a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. "It isn't much but..." Thomas trailed off suddenly nervous.

James tore the wrapping with trembling fingers and revealed Thomas' old Meditations book. He let the paper fall to the floor and opened the book to look at the first page.

"I want you to have it," Thomas said in a serious tone.

James caressed the written words and looked up to him, a tear had fallen from his right cheek. "Thank you."

"I told you he was going to love it," Miranda added tenderly.

.

His phone rang.

"Hello, Captain," James answered.

"Dammit, James, I warned you to be careful," Captain Hennessey said, his tone both reprouchful and worried.

"Wh-?"

"Something happened, you have to come."

.

Hennessey drove him to the hospital where Miranda was waiting for them. She was in the hallway, crying desperately into Peter Ashe's arms, who had always been a personal friend of the marriage. When Miranda saw him, she ran towards him and grabbed him by his sides.

"They did it, they did it," she cried to a still shocked James.

It felt like a nightmare, he opened the door and his movements where slurred like in a bad dream. Or so he wanted to believe, but the sharp cold white of the walls and the disturbing noises from the machines, deafening in the stunning silence brought him back to the cruel reality. Thomas lied in a bed, wires and cords surrounding him and connecting him to the devices that kept him alive.

"He was going to court when he lost control of his car," Hennessey explained. "We have reasons to believe that someone tampered with the brakes."

"The doctor said he might not wake," Miranda choked up.

James' eyes were wide, struggling to process what was happening.

"You cannot stay here for long," Peter warned them. "They might come after you too."

Thomas chest heaved, and James imagined him to be in pain. His beautiful face was blackened with bruises and inflamed, he still had rest of blood in his soft hair. James' pain turned into anger.

"Was he involved?"

"Who?"

"Alfred Hamilton, was he responsible of this."

"Yes," Miranda said emphatically at the same time that Hennessey answered. "We don't have any substantial proof of it."

"We'll put you in Witness Protection, you'll be safe," Peter assured them.

"I don't want safety, I want justice," James said with a snarl.

"Right now, the best way to help will be for you and Miranda to be safe, James," Hennessey said, "until we call you to act as witness and to expose what you know. We'll keep working."

When they got out of the hospital, it was raining. While walking through the mud, James turned his back on his entire life. Thomas Hamilton, the love of his life, was in a coma and James McGraw was dead.

.

Silver's eyes shined with unspilt tears.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

But Flint kept talking, because if he paused, he might not be able to finish and he needed to say it all. "Miranda knew Governor Underhill from her work in Public Relations, and that's how we got passage to Nassau. When I was asked what I wanted to work about, all I could think of was Thomas' passion for philosophy. So Miranda talked to Underhill who pressured Guthrie so I could get a job at the university. That's why Guthrie hates me and wants to get rid of me, he hates that he was forced to accept me with no proper titles."

Flint stopped for a few seconds to gather air. He stared at the floor, unable to look Silver in the eye while he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Two years ago, I received an email from Peter. After eight years of being in coma, Thomas suffered a stroke and passed away."

"I'm sorry," Silver lamented once more.

"I needed to tell you, because Thomas has been a shadow in my past for too long. He's the excuse I used to push you away, and though I'll try, I can't promise I won't push you away again in the future. I needed to tell you, because I thought that before we go any further, you should be able to see me for who I really am."

Flint's eyes penetrated Silver's.

Knowing the whole story, knowing the truth behind Flint, worried Silver. He had had suspicions before, but he had elected to ignore them, to bury them in the back of his mind. But now it was undeniable. A pattern was a pattern, after all. It even seemed that Thomas would agree.

History was threatening to repeat itself. Just as Frye had lost his very own Thomas and had escaped to Nassau, so had Flint. This was his warning, this was when he had to stand up and walk away. Because if history was moving forward in a cycle, then all that lied ahead of Silver's future was suffering and heartbreak.

In those seconds, while Flint stared at him exposing his very soul and Silver was left to make a decision, the hand that lied over his left leg, closed over it, pondering the weight of what would come next. But Flint had bared all of his vulnerabilities to him, Silver realized that he had the power to destroy Flint if he so chose. He could expose him, break his heart, do as he wanted. And as much as that scared him, he wanted that power. Not to hurt Flint, but to protect him.

Silver understood that he could and should turn away, but he didn't want to. He was already drawing in the green sea that stared at him.

He didn't voice out loud his worries, instead he covered the hand that Flint had resting between both of them with his own, and said, "I see you."

The choice was his, and he was choosing to damn himself as long as it meant having this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I was sorrier for this chapter, but ergo, I am not.  
> It was a hard chapter to write, I hope I did justice to Thomas and James' story and that I ripped your hears in the make. :)  
> Hey, don't look at me like that at least in the next chapter there'll be smut.
> 
> Love,  
> Florencia
> 
> PD: This is a good time to tell you what I have forgotten to tell you sinche ch. 1.  
> The name of this fic is based, primarly, in "Too much love will kill you" by Queen. Secondarily, in "Avalance" the amazing song that plays in the endcredits of 2x09. Both songs have this phrase in it.  
> Terciary, you may now have a deeper understanding of what 'shadows' I'm talking about.  
> That's all.
> 
> Peace,  
> Florencia


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing,_   
>  _in so far as it stands ready against the accidental_   
>  _and the unforeseen, and is not apt to fall."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _– Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: less than canon typical violence

Flint normally didn't use the time he had to work in his lab to correct essays from his students, but the second mid-term exam of the semester was approaching, and they needed to be able to study from his corrections. Although if Flint was honest with himself, that was an excuse. The reality was that he was too anxious to any kind of mentally-demanding investigation, and his student's work was easy enough to correct.

Even so, by the time he had finished with the last of it, the light entering through his window was dimming, which considering summer was approaching, meant it was really getting late. He mentally kicked himself for losing track of time, though he had to admit he might stalled on purpose. After the heart-to-heart conversation he had with Silver last night he had yet to face him.

They had agreed on dining together on Flint's flat. Which was not unusual for them, but this time Silver would leave Randall ready to bed and they would eat alone. It was, though neither of them had actually had the courage to label it, an honest-to-god _date_. He hadn't had a date in over a decade. His affair with Miranda and Thomas had happened progressively and naturally, so they hadn't had dates. They had went out, they had dined and gone to the cinema, but it wasn't what Flint would call _dating_. Their outings hadn't had trepidation, they hadn't made Flint anxious with all the potential, the promise of something new, unfamiliar and marvelous to be unraveled. Of course, in his ten years in Nassau, in his grieving grumpiness, Flint's dating status had been ever sadder. His escapades to go and see Miranda hadn't been anything remotely close.

So here was Flint, who had walked the earth for over four decades, putting away the essays in his suitcase with trembling fingers. For God's sake, he had wasted fifteen minutes pondering whether to put candles would be too corny or not until he had chastised himself for being stupid and had continued to work. And no, he hadn't reached any conclusion on the subject.

So yes, James Flint was about to have a _date_ with John Silver, and he was nervous about it. That's why, when he approached his vehicle, he didn't check his surroundings, as his past as cop had trained him to do, and didn't saw the figures moving around the parking lot.

He did hear the click of a safety switch and his instincts finally kicked in.

Step number one, asses the situation, establish the number of perps and the distance. Flint looked at the shadows reflected on the window of his car, he could distinguish three figures moving towards him in a V formation.

Step number two, asses the situation, tools at your disposal. In this, Flint was at a disadvantage, the only two objects he had where his suitcase and car keys, but he'll make do with that.

Step number three, establish the best course of attack, engage.

He turned around in one swift motion and confirmed that the man in front of the formation was the one carrying the gun, so he threw his suitcase forcefully into his face. While the man was falling down he took a step forward, and with his keys intertwined between his fist he punched one of the other men in the face. But before he could charge against the last one, the man stretched out his arm in an arc.

Flint's conscious mind took a second to catch up to why he was falling back, recoiling in pain. His back hit his car with a dull thump. His breathing had become laboured and he could feel a sting in his chest.

"Fuck him!" said the guy Flint had hit with his key, he voice came muffled behind his hands that he was using in a failed attempt to contain the blood sliding through his face. Not only had Flint broke his nose but he also had cut him with the keys. "I'm gonna kill him!"

The one who had had the gun had recovered it and stood up from the floor aiming at Flint once more, while on his side, the one with the knife also held a threatening pose. "Now, now, now," said the guy with the gun, "you're going to tell me what we want to know or I'm gonna let my friend have his way with you," he finished pointing with his head at the one with the bloodied face.

"I'm going to beat your sorry ass so hard that I'll have you singing in no time," the man threatened. "I'll even have you apologizing for what you did to me," and he spat at Flint his blood.

"Now, where is he?" asked the one with the gun. "Whe-"

His words were cut short by a yelp of pain as a heavy rock suddenly hit the hand holding the weapon. Flint didn't hesitate to use the disruption and went after the man with the bloodied face. He managed to hit the man once more in the face, unprepared as he was. Flint paid no attention to the commotion happening next to him as the man was beginning to retaliate. The man was strong and held more body build than him, but he was angry with blood dripping down his face. His rage made his movements dumb, while Flint kept a cleared head.

Only when the guy had fallen to the ground and was struggling to get up, did Flint spare a glance to his side. He saw Charles Vane with his assistant Anne, each one of them fighting one of the men. He didn't had time to be surprise as his attacker was now charging against him, instead he kicked him in the stomach sending the man to the ground once more. This time, he didn't let him time to try to get up, kicking him once in the head and the man slumped unconscious.

He turned around with the attention to help Vane and Anne, but almost as if was choreographed, both of them managed to knock out their opponents, seconds after the other.

"Shall I call the police?" Flint heard startled, and saw Jack coming from a side of the parking lot. He glanced in disgust at the bodies on the floor, walking around them while he approached them.

"No," Flint said once his mind recovered slightly from the adrenaline rush.

"Are you sure?" Jack asked. "These guys seem like they belong in jail."

"I am," Flint said sternly, a police report may compromise his identity, though glancing at the unconscious men at the floor, maybe it was too late for that.

Jack looked like he wanted to refute but he was interrupted by Vane. "Let him be, a man is entitled to his reasons."

Flint looked at Vane. Though his hair was stuck to his face with sweat his breathing was calm, as if this had been only a training exercise. "Thank you," Flint said extending a hand and he regarded Vane with a curious look. Why would a college professor, regardless of the subject, act so natural when he saw a coworker being attacked and how could he join in the fight so easily? But the look that Vane gave him while he stretched his hand said it all. Every man was entitled to a past and his secrets. A silent understanding went through them. They were more similar than what they had originally thought.

Flint then turned to Anne and repeated a thank you to her.

"Don't sweat it," was her answer with a firm handshake.

"Well, if you're positive that you don't want to call the police maybe we should leave," Jack reasoned with Flint's suitcase in hand that he had picked up.

Flint took his stuff from Jack's hands and rummaged through his suitcase for his phone. When he found it, the screen was shattered and it wouldn't turn on. He had no way of letting Silver know he was running late and he cursed under his breath.

"We were going to go for some beers," Vane informed him. "You can join us after you had that checked," he added pointing at the red gash in Flint's chest.

Flint tried to control his eyebrows from showing his incredulity. "Another time, I was supposed to meet someone."

Vane nodded. "See you at the bar," he directed at Jack and Anne, before he left in direction of his own car.

At the end, Flint must have failed to control his expression, because that must had been the reason why Jack said, "You see, he has always... _admired_ you."

"Is that what they call it these days?" Anne chipped in.

Jack ignored her. "The point is, he does respect you." Jack looked down at one of the men who had begun to stir. "Can we leave?" he pleaded.

"Where's your car?"

"We were going to leave with Charles," Jack began to explain at the same time Anne said, "We're taking yours."

"Excuse me?"

"You've been cut you're not driving," Anne stated.

"As my partner has delicately put, you're injured and we won't let you drive until you at least had received some attention. Our house is nearby, we can bandage it there."

"I have a first aid kit in the car, I can take care of myself."

"We don't doubt that, now, keys," Jack demanded with an extended hand. Flint had to give the man some recognition because he didn't flinch under the death stare he sent his way, he had some balls on him after all.

Afterwards, when he was in the backseat of his own car while Anne drove, Jack explained it to him. "Charles threatens me at least seven times a day, and that's when he's in a good mood."

They had agreed that Jack tended to him while in the car, until they reached Jack and Anne's home. After it, if Jack was satisfied, they would let him take the car to his own home. Flint couldn't understand how he went from fighting three goons to be manhandled by two permanent undergrads.

.

Flint arrived at the Walrus cursing under his breath, he was over an hour late and had had no way of letting Silver know. Everything was so precarious still between them. The conversation had left Flint exposed, like a snake that had shedded an old skin and the new one was still tender, vulnerable to any predator. Although Silver had reacted well, forthcoming and understanding, Flint was still afraid. What if in the light of the new day Silver had managed to see things with more clarity. If he had realized that being near Flint was too dangerous, if he had realized that Flint was too damaged, too broken and he wasn't worthy.

He looked down at the blood that had soaked into his shirt and cursed once more. If today's attack proved something was that he was unsafe, Poseidon's curse remained strong with him. He had to let Silver go. So he bypassed Silver's- Randall's door and went to his own flat. He had barely left his suitcase over his desk when his door -which he had forgotten to lock- opened abruptly. He turned slowly and was faced with Silver's angry expression.

"You know, I haven't been stood up since high school," and Flint could hear the hurt hidden behind the anger.

"I-" Flint begun, but he was now depleted of energy, the fight in him had left him.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Silver asked abruptly upon noticing the blood stain in Flint's shirt and cutting Flint away from his dark thoughts. Flint opened his mouth to begin speaking but he was cut short by Silver's hands in his chest inspecting the bandaged wound. "Shit! The fuck happened? Who did this?"

"The cut or the bandage?" Flint asked.

Silver leveled him with a glare.

"Come, I'll treat that," Silver commanded, heading to the kitchen.

Flint laid over the counter while Silver retrieved the first aid elements distributed along the cupboards.

"You're angry," Flint commented when he had Silver in front of him.

"Your detective skills haven't left you, I see," Silver deadpanned. "Now, remove that sodding shirt of yours."

Flint obeyed in silence. Despite the dried blood and the improvised bandaging he had, he felt exposed in a carnal way, to complement how exposed his heart already felt. To complicate matters Silver had to reach behind his back to untie the wrapping. He could feel his breath on his cheek.

"At first, I thought you had changed your mind," Silver said and his words blowed his ginger hair softly. "That you had thought you had shared too much with me and you regretted it." Silver had moved back on the first round of the bandage against Flint's chest. He avoided his eyes, focusing instead on what he hands were doing. He spoke again when Flint could not see his face. "It happened before," because it was said next to his ear, Flint didn't miss the slight tremble of hurt. "Maybe you just had gotten scared and it wasn't personal. Maybe it was and that's the fucking problem." Silver sighed. "In the end, the why doesn't matter, it's only been a day and you've hurt me again."

Finally, he had removed the bandage, and with it still in his right hands, he bracketed Flint, his hands supporting his weight at each side of Flint and his head hidden over Flint's shoulder but not touching him.

"You could have at least texted me."

"My phone was broken."

"Of course it was," Silver laughed bitterly. "You know what the worst part is? I've came to confront you and I see you've been hurt. I realize I was getting pissed at you when you were in danger." Silver's breathing was getting labored. "It _scares_ me, James. You have such a capacity to hurt me, you don't even have to try. For as much as you've exposed yourself to me last night, I've been exposing myself to you for sometime and it's not something I've ever made a habit of."

Silver moved back to look at Flint, their faces mere inches apart.

" _John..._ " Flint breathed moving a hand to cup Silver's face.

Tension was building up between them. Flint's thumb moved in a soft caressing circle over Silver's cheek. It dissipated some of the tension to bearable levels, but it was like removing water from a sinking ship with a spoon, soon the water would overflow them and swipe them away. Before it happened though, Silver moved further back, letting Flint's hand to fall.

"I still need to disinfect your wound," he said with an unreadable expression.

Flint felt like it was a door being slammed in his face. An still unlocked door, for Silver had just confessed how deep his feelings were for him. For Silver was the siren, and the siren had heard Odysseus song and had fallen in love with him. Flint realized that as scary as it was for Odysseus to jump into the water, it was as much for the siren that had to keep the mortal man afloat, not he sink into the depths of the sea. The hero that had held too long to a past gone by and the siren that had never cared for anyone were now on uncharted waters.

"John," Flint called.

But John wouldn't look at him, instead he kept his gaze fixed on Flint's wound that he was cleaning with alcohol. "What happened?"

The sight Flint emitted got mixed with a hiss produced by the alcohol's sting. "Three guys came at me at the parking a lot, I threw my suitcase at one and that's when the phone must've broken. Vane and his pe- assistants helped me fight them off."

That finally made Silver look at him. "Vane?"

"I was just as surprised as you are," and with that some levity returned to the air in the room. "Jack and Anne insisted I shouldn't drive, and took my car," Flint continued. Silver raised an amused eyebrow in response, the simple gesture lifted Flint's spirits more than he cared to admit. "Jack did the bandages in the back of my car."

"That explains why they were such a mess," Silver laughed leaving the alcohol for some brand new clothes.

"On Jack's defense, I wasn't the most pliable of patients," Flint admitted.

"You don't seem particularly hard to work with now," Silver said, breathing in his ear once more while he collocated the bandages around Flint's back and chest.

"He was not you," with that comment, the charged tension dropped again in the room.

Silver's muscles were tense while he tied the bandages. "Done," he said and was about to take a step back and leave his place between Flint's stretched legs when Flint grabbed him by the wrist.

"John…"

For Flint understood that both Odysseus and the siren were scared, maybe they could be less scared if they did this together.

"I'm a dangerous man, these people that came for me could return. I'm broken and you already know why. But I- I- I can't say yet," he hanged his head of shame letting it rest against Silver's forehead, "I'm scared too. But I-"

"You're tired of being alone," Silver completed.

Flint raised his head and let himself get lost in the blue sea of Silver's eyes. "Yes," he confessed.

Silver surged forward and slammed their lips together. Their bodies got flushed against one another, Flint's naked, though bandaged, chest against the soft shirt that covered Silver's torso. The kiss felt like Providence, like a click and its slot, like the final piece of a puzzle, like coming home, like what's right. Silver moaned into the kiss, for once he chose to forego thought and focus on the present, on the slight burn of Flint's beard against his lips, the slide of Flint's tongue against his and the welcoming alive warmth of Flint's body against his.

Flint's hands were tangled on his hair, pulling softly, treading, so Silver drove his hands to Flint's ginger hair and use the position to pull Flint back slightly so they could recover their breaths. Flint looked at him and Silver couldn't help but smile. He had wanted this since Flint had first pushed him against the wall of the hallway, and now he was finally allowed to have it. When Flint smiled back at him, his smile grew bigger and he felt stupidly in love.

He kissed him again because he was already addicted to the taste, to the feel. Silver felt powerful, with the capacity to level towns to the ground or conquer nations. He felt as nothing could trump it, but then, Flint pulled him closed with his arms, forcing Silver to take a small step forward that Silver didn't know it was possible, making their clothed erections come into contact. Silver was so wrong, if he felt so elevated with just Flint's mouth on him, now he felt like he could deal with entire galaxies. The moan that escaped his mouth was completely dirty.

However, Flint's answering moan was interrupted by a sudden hiss of pain, the friction in his wounded chest passing this side of unbearable.

"Wait, you're hurt," Silver said, trying to push Flint back.

"I don't care," Flint growled, using one of his hands that was tangled to make Silver bear his throat so he could lavishes it with kisses and bites.

Silver moaned again, the elation of finally having this made him unable to put up a fight. He was malleable in Flint's arms, but eventually his need was too powerful, and he wanted, he needed to feel those lips with his again. Silver speculated that he could kiss Flint for a thousand years and he would never get tired. So taking control of the kiss, Silver used one hand in Flint's shoulder to push his chest slightly back while the other went to Flint's ass and push him forward to the edge of the counter.

"That's it," Silver elated while sparks of pleasure ascended his body.

"Fuck," Flint cursed and he bit Silver's lower lip to silence his own groan.

"Please, let me hear you," Silver begged, "you sound so hot, so pretty, _fuck_."

Their hips were developing a rhythm. Flint's legs were caught in indecision. One moment they would tighten their hold on Silver, while on the next they would open up to give room to Silver's thrusts. Flint's moans became puffs of air that Silver would breath in. Silver felt himself creeping closer and closer to the edge, but he had waited this for so long that he didn't want it to be over.

"James," he moaned.

" _John_ ," and oh god, Flint sounded so wrecked.

"Please, I need to see you, please," Silver begged, and one of his hands grabbed the belt of Flint's plants.

"Yes," Flint agreed enthusiastically.

Silver was desperate to see, to feel Flint's cock. Although the rational part of his mind knew that this was only the first of many times, some other part of him told him he had to make the most of it just in case. So he opened Flint's belt and pants with a shaky hand, and took out his cock.

Flint's cock was just pretty. A beautiful shade of red, slightly curved upwards, engorged in his arousal, with marked veins that Silver wanted to trace their paths with his tongue. But not now, instead he traced them with his hand, reveling in the way Flint's entire body shivered and the broken gasps and pleas that escaped from Flint.

He stroked Flint a couple of times, but it was not enough for Silver, he needed more. He needed to watch the two of them together. He needed to see with his own eyes their union, so he hurried to take out his own cock and then he circled them together with his own hand.

"John!" Flint exclaimed, and he digged his nails on Silver's shoulders and scalp.

"Fuck, look at you, you're so beautiful, fuck," Silver couldn't help his mouth but Flint didn't mind.

Flint had surrendered completely, Odysseus had let down the last resistance towards the siren's song. He had given himself in to Silver fully but he couldn't come to regret it. Silver's hands were proving to be extremely capable. While Silver was enraptured by the sight of their joined cocks, Flint was by Silver's face. The beautiful eyes that called him like the sea calls a sailor, and those lips that had captivated him first. He was glad that Silver wasn't looking at him at the moment, because if he did, he might find in Flint's eyes that which he had already admitted he was not ready to confess.

Because he was allowed now, he swallowed Silver's words with his mouth, chasing as far as he could Silver's taste. God, he couldn't wait until he could go down on him and taste him better. Instead, for now, he would make it do with kissing him and smelling their combined musks that now only served to further Flint's arousal.

"John, I'm close," he warned him.

"Fuck, fuck, you shouldn't say things like that," Silver sweared, and Flint could feel Silver's cock twitching at his words.

"I'm going to, _fuck_ , come all over you," he panted.

"Fuck, James," Silver gasped, and he sounded so wrecked, so enraptured by him that Flint came. He came hard and long, his soul was satisfied.

A few pulls later, Silver followed him in the bliss, repeating his name as a mantra.

Together, clutching at each other as if neither of them could bear to let go, they recovered their breaths. Eventually, Silver's hand, the one that wasn't grabbing their cocks, released its tight grip and went to Flint's neck and cheek, caressing him with his thumb as Flint had done earlier.

For the briefest of moments, it was too much to Flint, to reminiscing of what he had shared with Thomas. But with a breath, he let go of the ghost, and grabbed Silver's hand to keep him close.

"I'm sorry I arrived later for dinner."

Silver hummed. "Don't be." After a few pants, he added, "fuck, we had been missing this for months now. We should have done this since you first had me against a wall."

Flint cursed as his spent dick twitched. "Don't talk like that, too tired."

Silver hummed again. "Don't care. We barely begun. I've fantasized of you for so long, there're so many things I want to do with you, _to_ you."

"Fuck, Silver," but there was fond humour in Flint's voice as well as tired arousal and he kissed Silver's cheek.

Silver turned his head and stirred the kiss towards his mouth. The kiss was slow and sloppy, but still deep and intense.

"I wish I could stay," Silver said when they separated.

"Maybe next time," Flint answered.

And here was the siren believing it could grow legs, the mortal man believing he could grow gills. The salmon believing it could live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was me thinking of this scene:  
> Four chapters ago: Ok, they're gonna kiss.  
> A chapter ago: Nah, better, dry humping.  
> During the chapter: Nope, frottage it is.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the delay, I'm a mess. Also sorry in advance for the next chapter.
> 
> PS: I've been doing fanart of my fic, you can see what I have insofar [here](http://husbandpirates.tumblr.com/post/155612711705/so-i-finally-finished-the-first-part-of-my-fanart). It's supposed to have more in it, so it's not quite finished.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Whatever happens to you_   
>  _has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time._   
>  _The twining strands of fate wove both of them together:_   
>  _your own existence and the things that happen to you."_
> 
> _\- Marcus Aurelius, Meditations._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: ableist language, torture

_Until recently he would have abandoned the men in the ship without a second thought. He would have left not caring if Captain Vanstone put them all to the sword, or if Captain Frye had no ship to return to from the mainland. He had never been a good man and he was fine with it._

_He had told lies that had got people hurt or killed with no remorse. He had stolen and even killed with his own hand. He had no guilt in manipulating people for his own survival and benefit. And most importantly, he did not have any intention to change any of that._

_Yet, even as he pondered what option would ensure his survival something weighted him down._

_On the land Frye was negotiating a peaceful surrender of Nassau with his lover and partner, Marinda. Pirates turning into honest men. The idea was crazy but it someone was capable of achieving such impossible task it was Frye, specially with Marinda at his side._

_But as stated before Gold was not an honest man._

_He still had lied and manipulated, so when Vanstone invaded their ship, he knew his options did not end with a sword in his guts or a noose around his neck at the beach. He just had to survive long enough to get to the treasure that awaited him._

_Yet something stirred in him when he considered his options and it was not just the high prospects of death._

_It was only when he saw Ronald's unseeing eyes that he saw he had another choice. Ronald had been both his chain and his anchor. He had been both someone he had to reluctantly look after as well as his means to secure a place in the crew._

_In a land of thieves and traitors Ronald had been his first ally._

_So he grabbed the knife from Ronald's unfinished dinner and when he told his plan to the one crewman that had escaped Vanstone's grasp there was steel in his voice._

" _Just tell me this," the crewman asked, "are you suggesting we do this to save ourselves or are you suggesting we do it to save the crew?"_

_And to that Gold did not have an answer that he liked._

.

It probably was the sunlight on his face what woke Silver up. On any other day, he would have hidden his face under his pillow, grunting while he tried to get some extra moments of sleep. But today, he smiled. Today it felt like the sun was giving him a soft warm caress on his face.

Slowly, the memories of last night replayed on his mind. Silver had to fight the urge to hide his face against the pillow as a teenage boy. As it was, he couldn't help the grin in his face.

A glance at his phone showed it was early enough that he wouldn't have to rush to cook Randall's breakfast as he did everyday. When Randall woke up and found Silver cooking with a smile and lightness in his step, he said nothing. Although he did throw a knowing smile at Silver before sitting at the table with a gruff. He was hungry after all.

Not wanting to seem overeager, Silver tried to wait until past nine to text Flint. He deliberated back and forth what words to write, anxiously jumping from one choice to the other. Finally, before he could feel like more of an idiot, he hit send. He looked at the hour, ten minutes to nine, Silver cringed at his lack of patience. Flint's first class started in forty, he might still answer soon. Then he remembered that Flint's phone had been broken last night and cursed under his breath, making Randall raise a curious eyebrow at him.

Silver might have acknowledged that if his phone hadn't vibrated in his hand.

" **youre right i still owe u dinner"**

Silver smiled, and not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he replied. **"Maybe for once you should take me out."**

" **i hope youre not saying youre tired of my cooking"**

" **And I hope you're not implying that I'm cheap."**

" **i wouldnt dare"**

" **ill only say this, dessert may be served faster if its prepared at home"**

" **But the wait might make the flavor richer."**

The stirring in his groin made Flint curse, glad that he was still alone at his lab. He knew that he had stirred the conversation to this turbulent waters, but Silver was indeed a siren luring him. But right now he didn't care if he ended having to fight off a boner before class.

" **im pretty sure that the dessert im planing on having will be tasty no matter what"**

The memory of what Silver's cock looked like next to his resurfaced in Flint's mind and now he definitely would have to deal with his situation before class.

" **Oh, and here I was thinking that the dessert was meant for me."**

" **i dont see y we cant both enjoy dessert"**

" **I still think tonight you should take me out."**

A fondly expression took hold of Flint. His own reaction went unnoticed by himself, something fortunate because it may have scared him of if he realized how gone for Silver he was. The time for that would come later under more dire circumstances.

" **so itll have to be tonight wont it?"**

A glance to the corner of his old phone told him that he had only ten minutes before his next class. He put his phone in silence mode and ignored it so he could tend to the situation in his groin. Otherwise he would have to give his class without getting up from his desk. Thankfully, thinking in the stupid questions that his students will undoubtedly ask him helped him to calm down.

.

_He had done it, he had bought Frye time, he had saved the crew even if just for a while longer. But now they would be discovered. The moment he had cut the forestay to force Vanstone's men to make repairs before sailing he had announced his presence. Passing unnoticed a second time was out of the question._

_He had traced a new plan, a plan made in a hurry, its foundation as weak as sand. But then again most of his plans were the same. Vanstone was a proud man, he would want to find the saboteur himself. If anyone else found them, they were unlikely to survive._

_So he sat with his back towards the oncoming steps, lead making his stomach heavy. He tried not to be relieved when he noticed it was only one set of steps, there were still many things that could go wrong. Gold slumped his shoulders and presented himself as a resigned caught man with only one last futile spark of defiance in his eyes._

" _And who the fuck do we have here?" Vanstone said approaching with confident and deadly steps._

_Gold raised his eyes to meet him and saw his fellow crewman come out from the shadows. With the element of surprise on his favor, the crewman managed to grab Vanstone from the back and press a knife against his neck in a firm hold. Gold allowed himself a tiny smile, against all chances the plan was going well._

_Now, it was time to use his silver tongue to convince Vanstone that surrender was his best option._

" _So what do you suppose happens next?" Gold asked, but he had thought himself victorious too soon. Fate and karma would show him that they never graced a thief._

" _Pirate vessel!" was heard from the outside. From what was probably a longboat, they proceeded to inform them they they came from the colony. "I trusted the good faith of your arrival and I accepted Captain Frye as my guest in the same spirit. But I now regret to inform you that he has violated that trust in a most deceitful manner."_

" _What?" Gold couldn't help but whisper. It didn't make sense that Frye would do something unsavory towards their success. And most importantly, he didn't like the implications._

" _Therefore I've placed him under arrest. This trial and its resulting sentence will be swift, just, and final," the man continued shouting about how they wouldn't fear pirates anymore but Gold was not listening. A ball of dread had formed in his stomach and he wasn't sure if it was because now convincing Vanstone -and therefore securing his own survival- would be harder, or if it was because now Frye was as good as dead. "At the conclusion of this trial, if your ship remains, I will seize or sink her."_

_However the damage to his plans went even further than that. The interruption had distracted the crewman making him relent his hold on Vanstone allowing him to move around and knock the crewman out. Next, Gold found himself with a knife against his throat. Once again, words were his sole defense._

" _Now, let me tell you what happens next," Vanstone threatened him._

 _Gold was reminded of the previous time a captain had held a knife against his throat, when it had been_ his _captain. It was with that image in his head that he looked at Vanstone's eyes with a defiance that wasn't fake this time around. He assessed the kind of man he was, and Gold knew what he had to say._

.

Miranda opened the door with a smile in her face. "So how did it go?" she asked and laughed when she saw Flint flush under his ginger complexion. Taking pity on him, she stepped aside to let him enter. Any further prodding would wait until Flint was sat, maybe with a glass of rum in his hand to loosen his lips.

"What do you want to drink? Whiskey, rum?" she offered.

"Just tea, thank you."

"Are you sure?" Miranda asked amused, knowing there was more.

"I- I'm going out," Flint explained, wishing he could somehow control his blushing.

"You are, hm?" she teased him while going to the kitchen to prepare a tea for both of them. When she returned and sat next to him, he barely gave him time to take his first sip, before she started. "Tell me everything."

Although this was in many ways embarrassing, he was glad for Miranda's questioning. This is why he had left the school earlier and came to see her. He needed her to tell him it was okay. That he hadn't misinterpreted her blessing from the other day. That it was okay that he was finally moving on from Thomas.

He also needed to see her to know that moving on wasn't forgetting. That just because he could find solace in Silver's arms it didn't mean he was tarnishing what he had had with Thomas. He couldn't voice any of this, but Miranda always knew.

"Well, actually, I arrived almost two hours late," he begun.

"James!" Miranda said scandalized.

.

" _You like being a free man," Gold stated._

_Vanstone increased the pressure of the knife against his neck, a bit more of it and it'd start to break the skin. "You're not in the position to make threats."_

" _No, it's not a threat, but something I'd like you to keep in mind for what I tell you next. Charlestown now has Captain Frye prisoner, to be trialed and hanged. I know that back at Nassau you already heard Frye's warnings about what civilization might do to us," Gold saw Vanstone scoff. He still hadn't caught his prey, but this was still working perfectly. Let the prey roam unassuming of when the trap would close._

" _I know you thought of them without merit but I want you to consider this now. The most feared pirate captain, the one parents tell their children stories about to push them into submission and fear, Captain Frye is now their prisoner. Tomorrow or the day after, he will be dead. What will civilization do once they have the head of the biggest monster to hang in their wall as a trophy? How long until they come for the nest and the rest of the monsters?"_

_Vanstone shifted uncomfortable, clearly bothered by the implications._

" _What do you want me to do?" he asked affronted._

" _Well, you're the other monster they fear the most, I believe you know what to do?" Gold replied with a smirk. A mischievous glint shone in Vanstone's eyes, he had his prey. Another situation he successfully talked his way out of._

_He was being taken prisoner now, along with the rest of his crew. But he was alive and so would Captain Frye. He was taken to sit chained in front of Bones while his fellow crewman was taken a bit further. Vanstone spoke to both crews about how tomorrow civilization would learn to fear the monsters it had created. Silver's crewmates calmed down visibly, although most of them expressed also confusion in their faces. However, Silver looked up to Vanstone's men, not all of them seemed convinced._

_When the first lights were out, Vanstone approached Bones._

" _You and your men are going to remain under guard while I go ashore," Vanstone told him._

" _You know, we could help if you let us go," Bones argued but Vanstone just smiled. At least he had tried, Gold thought._

" _You can also try and take back this ship if I let you go. No, this ships belongs to us and I'm already taking all my men who support the plan. We claimed this ship and we intend to keep it," his voice slippery as usual but his conviction firm._

_But Bones had no patience, he was loyal to a fault to his crew and many had died in the assault. "What the fuck do you want from me? Why are you here?"_

" _You could make this difficult if you wanted," Vanstone explained. "Riling up your crew, forcing me to divert more men to guard you."_

_The two pirates assessed each other with their eyes, until Bones finally sighed and said, "I have something that will help you with the rescue, a better plan."_

_Vanstone nodded, and hour later he left with most of his men._

" _You've got about eight votes," Bones said to Gold all of the sudden._

" _What?"_

" _Eight votes for quartermaster," Bones added but before Gold's still perplexed expression, he explained further. "If you hadn't have cut that forestay, there's an argument to be made that Vanstone would have set sail right away and probably killed us all."_

" _And you're comfortable with this?" Gold asked, still unbelieving._

" _Not remotely," Bones smiled, an understanding passed between the two. Bones had been the one person on the crew besides the captain who knew he had lied his way through. Bones couldn't stand him, but as of now, they were both part of the same crew._

_However, the touching moment was cut short by Vanstone' men approaching._

" _This one," said the quartermaster pointing at Gold. "Get him up."_

_Gold complained, Bones too. They unchained his legs and made him stand up forcefully. But before they could drag him away, Bones stood up._

" _Hey, that's our brother you got there," he threatened them._

_It was as if it was a call to action, every single remaining member of Frye's crew stood up too. For a few seconds there was silence, but then chaos broke out as soon as Vanstone's men continued to push Gold. With their legs and hands chained, Frye's crew put a fight. Yet they couldn't stop Gold to be taken away and soon they were subdued._

_Gold sent one last desperate look into Bones direction._

.

Flint was telling Miranda about the aftermath of his dwelling with Silver. How they were reluctant to let each go, how the cleaning afterwards and getting dressed was stalled by the sweet short kisses they would give each other. How Silver made him promise that they see each other the next day. How this was just the beginning.

And maybe Flint was coloring it a bit more than how it actually happened, but he didn't care. Because he knew the sentiment was there. So he was a romantic after all. He had always been actually but tragedy had crusted his heart.

Until now.

His phone vibrated, and he was glad that he never threw away his old technology. **"Did you grab the Angus Konstman book?"** Silver asked him.

" **u should b preparing 4 our date"** he replied with a smirk.

"Ohh, it's him, isn't him?" Miranda said putting her head over Flint's shoulder to read his phone. But before Flint could push her away, Silver had replied.

" **But I am. You thought I never noticed how my theories had you all bothered?"**

Flint swallowed hard, because yes it was true. Right now though, he didn't know if he was getting excited over the prospect of hearing Silver's siren voice or embarrassed by the fact that Miranda was being privy to their conversation. However, Miranda's comment surprised him.

"Oh, dear, you definitely have a type," she laughed.

Flint raised an eyebrow at her before writing his answer. **"then by all means go fetch the book. theres a spare key under the left upper corner of the doorframe"**

Flint's soft smile wasn't even deterred by the cold draft that run around the house.

In the Walrus, Silver grabbed the key to Flint's flat.

"You still haven't told me what you think I should wear tonight," Silver said ignoring Randall's unending glare.

He opened the door and went straight to the bookcase. He saw from the corner of his eye Randall going to Flint's kitchen, probably to grab some spices because he had been complaining lately that Silver's cooking was still too bland. He inspected the bookcase searching for the book on pirate history as there were facts he needed to check to organize the ideas forming and floating in his head.

He heard a clatter coming from the kitchen that put him on guard. He knew Randall and he always behaved himself extra careful on the kitchen, so something was up. He walked silently and carefully trying to see what was happening when he heard Randall scared muffled cries and the deep whispering voices of at least two other men.

He froze.

He casted a glance at the still open door. If he sprinted, he could get away. Waiting in their flat was not an option, they could probably break in with no problem. He could probably continue running until getting out of the building, maybe finding Billy downstairs. But he didn't like his chances on a long run. He wasn't exactly a runner and he didn't know the physical state of the assailants.

However, he heard Randall cry with terror. Silver, with a sour feeling in his stomach, had made a decision and he would stick with it come what may.

Silver stepped into the kitchen, "I believe we can give you whatever you want without things turning ugly, wouldn't you say so?"

The four men that had Randall turned to him. But Silver drew his attention to Randall's scared and frightened eyes.

.

_The men had taken him to the captain's cabin and forcefully sat him at the desk, next to the crewman from before. This was not a good place to be, as it was full of those men who dissented Vanstone's idea of rescuing Frye._

" _Your friend over here says you're just the man to help us leave this place," said the man Gold had taken to be Vanstone's quartermaster. "My problem is a shortage of manpower. I need more men than I have to fully crew this ship. And I can't simply release your crewmates indiscriminately. I'd be inviting a counterattack to reclaim the ship. So I want names."_

" _Names?" Gold asked confused._

" _One list, ten men," Vanstone's quartermaster explained. "Those most likely to consent to join my crew, help me sail this ship away from here."_

_Gold chuckled. "And the men whose names aren't on that list?" he asked, for he knew the implications and he didn't like them. He had always been a loner, but this seemed a betrayal too big even for him._

" _I told them we ain't got no real connection to this crew," his fellow crewman said, making something akin to acid drop in Gold's stomach. So this was what they thought of him? He didn't knew why but it mattered to him. "You help him, we both get safe passage back to Nassau."_

_This was not an easy decision. It was a decision that he wished he didn't have to do. He was a thief, a liar, even the occasional murderer, a survivor. He had conspired with the crewman sitting next to him to steal for himself and another crew the very same treasure Frye had been once after. But it seemed even his survival instincts had a limit. His breath was heavy, this was not a decision he wanted to make._

" _No."_

" _No?" the quartermaster repeated._

" _I won't do it," Gold replied firmly._

_Vanstone's quartermaster snarled and drew his gun. Gold shouted when the man shot his fellow crewman who barely had time to send him one last look, his hand wet with his own blood before his head fell down._

" _Do not doubt my seriousness," the quartermaster warned him and got up to grab an axe. "In a short while, escaping from this place will be far harder than it is right now. Right now, the only thing preventing a clean escape is the men to make it work. And you're gonna give me those men."_

" _Now, if you kill me, what good will that do you?" Gold tried to reason, his voice broken with fear._

" _None whatsoever."_

_The quartermaster then gestured to his men who grabbed Gold once more and deposited him over the desk. The desk that had witnessed Gold congratulating Frye for regaining his captaincy, where Frye had confided in him and asked him for his opinion, where they had discussed strategy and morals. Gold tried to resist, even though he knew getting away was impossible._

" _You'll let me know when I might have those names," the quartermaster said raising the axe with the blunt end facing down._

" _Wait, wait! Stop! Stop!" Gold begged, but the axe descended upon his leg anyway._

.

One of the men pointed a gun at him, to which Silver immediately raised his hands. Randall was half lying on the floor where one of the men held him, covering his mouth with his hand. The man with the gun nodded to one of his partners who went back to the living room. Silver heard the door being locked and knew there went any chance he had of escaping. He would have to see this through.

"You see, we're not just some petty thieves," the man with the gun said. "We do want something but that something isn't a thing, no. We want information."

"Information?" Silver asked exaggerating his confusion, he hadn't seen this one coming. He had thought they wanted money, maybe electronics. He'd point them out to it. Flint would understand it. He'd give them whatever money was in Flint's flat and the men would be in their way. But information?

Flint had been brought to Nassau under the witness protection system so whatever information this guys wanted was not any small thing. This would require to be navigated carefully.

"Exactly, information. So you see, I'm glad you're here because I don't think your friend was exactly the more indicated to give us what we wanted," the man said kicking Randall on his side.

Silver tried not to flinch. He couldn't show that he cared, otherwise they might use Randall as leverage against him.

"He's only a half-wit idiot," Silver sneered, putting attention in his act so it was disdainful but not so much that they would suspect foul play, he just hoped Randall understood. "He'll piss himself before he'd give you any answers. But we're intelligent individuals so I think we can reach an understanding."

"Okay, guys, you've heard him, take care of him," the man commanded.

Before he could stop himself, Silver shouted a "Wait!". The guy holding Randall released him only to hit him on the head with the back of his own gun, knocking Randall out.

The man looked up at Silver again, a smirk on his lips. "We have one simple question," he said, "where is he?"

"Who?" Silver asked and though he tried he couldn't properly hide the defiance in his voice.

His mind went to Flint in Miranda's place. But that wasn't information he was willing to give. Next, his mind went to his phone where he had been chatting with Flint. He was glad he had left it on his flat, but it was merely a door over. He hoped these men weren't smart enough to check beyond this place.

"I'll ask one more time, and this time you will answer. Where is he?"

"I don't know who you're talking about," he knew this game wouldn't fool anyone but it would buy him time.

"I know you know," the man said while two of the men grabbed Silver by his arms. "But just in case you need some help with your memory, I believe this will help you," he finished grabbing a crowbar that lied next to the kitchen's window from where they had undoubtedly entered using the fire escape.

The two men that were holding Silver grabbed him and carried him to the kitchen table. The table where he had shared several dinners with Flint. The table where last night after both of them were spent Flint had pushed him softly to give him one soft last kiss. A third man grabbed a piece of cloth and covered his mouth with it.

"After the screams the next thing that will come out of your mouth will be the location we need."

Silver trashed over the table, muffled screams begging for mercy that weren't understood. The crowbar hit his leg and pierced his flesh.

Meanwhile, in Miranda's house, Flint was throwing her to the ground to hide her from the men that had broke in.

.

" _Give me the names!" the quartermaster shouted while he descended the axe over Gold's leg again._

_Gold screamed, he was drenched in sweat and shaking with pain. Yet he somehow still had enough strength to resist. Somehow, he had found loyalty and he was paying a steep price for it._

_The axe was halted mid air by a knock on the door of the captain's cabin._

" _What?!" the quartermaster asked annoyed._

" _They've engaged the blockade. The patrol ships are scrambling," said one of Vanstone's men opening the door._

" _Weigh the anchor," the quartermaster ordered and the man left closing the door. "I'll take my chances sailing over taking on those ships." The quartermaster left the axe and grabbed a knife, he put it against Gold's throat ready to slice it when another knock interrupted him. "What?! I gave you an order. What is your fucking problem?"_

_But there was no answer from the other side of the door._

" _The question you should be asking is where are his keys," Gold said, voice strained from the pain but with enough of that smugness that defined him, "and has he seen them since he took me away from my men?"_

_The man in question searched in vain for the keys on his belt when the door opened and two grenades rolled in. Gold turned around in a feeble attempt to cover himself. When the smoke from the explosion cleared away he was happy to see his men, his crew, fight Vanstone's men._

_Bones sliced the quartermaster with his sword and he had never been more happy to see the big son of a bitch._

.

"Give me the location!" the man shouted while he descended the crowbar over Silver's leg again.

Silver's screams were muffled by the cloth on his mouth. His clothes were soaked in sweat and stuck to his body. Silver have always claimed himself to have a low tolerance for pain, but this, this were levels he never thought himself capable of tolerating. Yet he found the strength in him, the unwillingness to give Flint away. He could endure, he would endure.

"Are you ready to tell me?" the man asked, but Silver shook his head, a movement that costed him more bravery than he ever thought he had. "Then I guess it's time we move on to the other leg."

Before a strike could land on his right leg, there was a knock on the door of the flat. The thugs looked at each other in surprise. Even in his pain, Silver managed a smirk.

"Maybe you should've wondered if the halfwit had a phone with him," Silver said, "and maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't have underestimated him."

While he had thrashed in agony Silver had managed to see Randall stir awake. And though Silver hadn't managed to see more he did knew Randall. Randall had Billy on his speed dial and had called him to let him hear the situation.

The men in their flat were only able to exchange one worried look before the door was kicked out of its hinges. From there, in all their fury, Billy and several of the biggest men from the Walrus rushed in, armed with bates, broomsticks, and even an umbrella. The thugs were taken by surprise so they fell easily under the attack of the Walrus' men.

Silver watched relieved how Billy confronted his very own torturer with a bate, hitting him several times until he fell with a hit to the head. He had never been more thankful of seeing the gigantic asshole.

Miranda's place was a battlefield too. Three men against a former police detective and a fierce woman who had never went out without putting up a fight. Their odds weren't the best but they could've been worse.

.

_Captain Frye returned to the ship with Captain Vanstone at his side. His face marred with dirt and blood from the townspeople he had slaughtered both in his escape and in revenge. In particular, Lord Aston's blood, he who had been Frye's friend when he had carried another name and had betrayed him twice. Then and now. For Marinda had not returned with Frye, instead her corpse would remain buried in the fallen debris of the town Aston had bought with his betrayal._

_On the ship, Bones was waiting for them with a gun aimed at Vanstone. "A bit of turmoil since you left," he explained. "But it's under control now."_

" _Release those men," Frye ordered, his face unreadable._

" _What, Captain?" Bones asked perplexed._

" _I know what happened and I don't care," Frye said, his voice firm and set. "I'll not hold pirates prisoner on this ship, not after today." Then he addressed Vanstone. "Keep your men in line."_

_By the Captain's orders the ship was redirected so it could have its cannons facing the shore._

" _What's the target, Captain?" Bones asked._

" _Whatever's left."_

_Below deck, Gold was deposited above a table by his fellow crewmen. They said reassurances to him until Doctor Howard cut away the remainings of his pants and boot on his damaged leg, exposing it. A heavy silence fell on of all the men._

" _Come on," Gold said trying to sound light, but failing miserably. He had never been more scared. "I'm sure we've all seen worse."_

_The silence continued for a while before Howard spoke. "I'll do what I can," he said leaving to go for his tools._

" _What does that mean?" Gold asked frightened. "What does that mean?" he said but the men didn't answer and instead gave him rum to drink._

_The doctor came back with a leather case, which he opened displaying a whole set of knives and metal instruments that made the blood in Gold run cold._

" _Would you like me to clear the room?" Howard asked._

" _Why would I want you to clear the room?" Gold asked back shaking._

" _When the shock sets in, you may lose faculties," Howard explained. "Some men lose their bowels. I can do it with as few as three or four men."_

" _We're not going anywhere," said one of the crewmen._

" _I don't want this," Gold was terrified, his eyes jumped around the men, begging for one of them to deny what was happening._

" _If it doesn't come off quickly, you won't make it three days," Howard argued calmly with professionalism but also hurried as time was of essence._

" _Did you not fucking hear me?!" Gold screamed. Anything, anything but this. "I said I do not want this!"_

_All of his life he had fought to defy the definitions set on him by others. He had been like a chameleon, ready to change himself as he saw fit. He could be a sailor, a cook, a thief, a liar, a spellbinder. He could always adapt himself to the circumstances, but it was him who set the rules. This would define him forever._

_An invalid._

" _You'll die," Howard said sternly. "This way, there's a very good chance to prevent it."_

" _The crew will look after you," said Marcus, the crewman that stood next to his head. Gold looked at him with terror, for Gold had learned early on that he could only rely on himself. "Don't worry about that."_

_Gold had never been more terrified in his entire left._

" _Hold him down," Howard instructed._

_Gold started a litany of noes, as if that could change anything._

" _It'll be all right, mate" Marcus assured him._

_The blade against his leg felt like a sentence. Then, there was the first slice._

_Gold's screams were drowned by the sound of the cannons firing against the town._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, of all I'm very sorry for not updating in 5 months what the fuck at myself  
> Second, I am not at all sorry for this chapter.
> 
> So in this time I haven't been able to watch s4 yet both for personal reasons and bc I'm a coward who's not ready for the feels (yeah that's rich coming from me) but I do know how it ends and a great deal more. Also bc I do know how it ends I was inspired to change the planned ending of this fic, it won't be as happy as I was wanted, it will lean a lot more on the bittersweet sorry for that.
> 
> I hope you guys like it. Sorry once more for taking so long. I hope you guys comment.
> 
> PS: I also did two drawings for fanart for the fic, check the tag on my blog.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Everything that happens happens as it should,_   
>  _and if you observe carefully,_   
>  _you will find this to be so."_   
>  _-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

He saw blinding brightness everywhere. A lifeless white color that for a moment, Silver thought it explained the coldness he felt. He blinked and he recognized the whiteness as a ceiling illuminated by daylight.

It was not the first time he saw that ceiling. He recalled waking up before but he had been unable to maintain consciousness. As he tried to regain his wits to understand where he was memories started rushing back in. Billy's face hovering over him and shouting something. Dr. Howell, covered in blood, his blood, climbing in the ambulance next to him.

"You are awake," Silver heard someone said and he turned his head to see him, amazed that he could achieve such a fit. He had recognized the voice, how could he not. Flint sat next to him, he had bags under his eyes as if he hadn't been sleeping properly. As if he had stayed in an uncomfortable hospital chair for who knows how many days.

Silver wanted to be comforted by Flint's presence in a place strange to him. To be comforted by his company in a bleak time. But when Silver looked at him, he could hear himself begging, bargaining with Howell. Please, he didn't want to be an invalid. There had to be a way, there was always a way. But Howell had spoken about broken tissue and bone.

And Silver had known it to be final.

Right now he couldn't stand staring at Flint. Instead, with infinite dread, he looked down. To confirm the sentence placed upon him, the chain tied to him by fate. There it was, that empty space where the rest of his left leg should be. The sheet flat against the bed. What would define him for the rest of his life.

"Where- Where's-" Silver tried to ask but his throat was far too dry.

Flint rushed to pour him some water from the jar on the nightstand. Their fingers brushed when he handed him the glass and Silver didn't know how to feel about that.

"Randall's fine," Flint informed him. "They checked him for concussions but he had none. Billy is taking care of him. He has been visiting constantly."

Silver could notice the fidgeting in Flint and he could tell how being in a hospital could be unpleasant for him. He had not forgotten about Thomas. But that was not a comforting thought for Silver. Too much past looming over the present. He then noticed small stains of blood on Flint's forehead who saw the question in his eyes.

"I- we were attacked too at Miranda's," Flint's nervousness seemed to increase. "She's fine. A bit shaken but fine."

Flint paused and Silver could tell what was coming and he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want apologies, declarations of guilty or any form of pity. So before Flint could utter a word, he spoke.

"I have my laptop on the desk next to my bed at Randall's. The password is 'therebedragons' all together. I want y- you should read all the files on the folder Black Sails. Every single text document and pdf file. You should read them all."

"What are you talking about?" Flint asked confused, and slightly hurt for he felt the coldness with which Silver addressed him.

"It's my entire investigation, everything I have written so far. You need to read it," Silver stated with an emotionless tone.

"Why?"

"Read it, and only then come to see me again. You'll understand." Silver looked away from Flint.

Flint understood the dismissal and it hurt him. But he understood that now it wasn't about him, so he got up from his sit and looked at Silver with a pained expression. Unable to just leave like this. He kissed Silver briefly on the forehead, but it didn't give them any kind of relief.

For Silver, the kiss felt like a crowbar and an axe behind his eyelids.

He was left alone with only his dark thoughts and the persistent pain on his missing leg despite the morphine to lull it. He drifted in and out of sleep, his dreams plagued with nightmares. Time passed funny, minutes seemed like hours and hours like minutes. Silver just wanted for it to end.

Not long after Flint left, Howell came to visit him to check on him and explain medical stuff. And to say those words that put dread on Silver's stomach. Some time later, Max came to see him. Their talk was business related for the most part and Silver was thankful for it. When Max left she had instructions to carry out.

.

The lunch he had bought from the cafeteria, remained untouched. Flint wasn't hungry. And with the ball currently residing in his stomach he was starting to doubt he would ever be so again. He wasn't even playing with his food. He was caught in his head replaying his visit to Silver.

He remembered also that brief moment when he had felt victorious. When with Miranda they had managed to knock out all the attackers, and to show for it –apart from the unconscious bodies on the floor– only the small gash Miranda sported in her forehead. They had already called the police and he was tending Miranda's wound when his phone rang.

He had been surprised but he had thought nothing of it. But then Billy's agitated voice scared him. "They broke into your flat," he had said. "There was- They found-"

And that's when he had remembered Silver had asked for his key.

"Is he okay?" Flint had asked desperately.

"Randall has a concussion, they're admitting him to check him in to see if he's okay," Billy had been stalling on purpose.

"What about John?" and all Flint had been able to think at the moment was 'please, not this again, please, God have mercy.'

"He's alive," Billy had rushed to say, but it hadn't been enough for Flint. "Howell's taking him to his hospital, he's in a bad condition."

Flint had hang up, he couldn't hear anymore. He had sent one desperate pleading look to Miranda. "Go," she said.

He had drove as fast as he could, rushing through the traffic with one pleading thought in his mind. 'Please, not again.' When he arrived, after he had asked the receptionist with desperation about the room, Billy had had to stop him, they were still operating him. Howell had come out hours later to tell them Silver was alive but that they hadn't been able to save his leg.

Flint hadn't cried, instead with a stoic face he had asked if he could see him. Howell had exchanged a look with Billy, he then told him he wouldn't wake for a least three days but Flint hadn't cared. He had only allowed himself to cry when there was no one else in the room than him and unconscious Silver.

And when Silver woke up those beautiful blue eyes had looked at him with pain and repulsion. Flint didn't blame him, the Poseidon's curse he carried with him had reached Silver. His siren wouldn't be able to walk.

A bottle appeared in front of Flint's face suddenly.

"Have a beer," a gritting voice said. Flint looked up astonished at Vane who was holding the bottle to him. "You need one," Vane said, putting the bottle on Flint's tray as he wouldn't grab it.

Flint zoned in and realized that he now had Jack and Anne sitting in front of him; Vane moved to sit at his side.

"We heard what's happened," Vane said.

Flint said nothing for a while. "How? It's been kept private so far."

"She run into his agent," Jack explained, and there was a sneer in his voice and the way he looked at Anne.

"So she just told you?" Flint asked, and for a brief moment he entertained the thought of warning Silver. To ask him if he had agreed to it. But then Flint remembered that Silver didn't want him near and the thought passed, washed away with sadness.

"Among other things," Jack said rudely.

"The fuck is your problem?" Anne snapped but Flint tuned them out, this was a lovers quarrel that didn't concern him. His food and beer remained untouched.

"Eat," Vane told him. "You'll need it."

Under Vane's unwavering gaze, Flint finally pushed his fork towards his food.

.

If there was a visit Silver wasn't expecting was this one. He had never seen her as Flint didn't keep any picture in view of her in his flat for security reasons. Silver had been curious of meeting her, the woman who had been part of Flint's other life. Even though he would only begrudgingly admit it, he had pictured it happening under more romantic circumstances. In a future where he was a fixed aspect of Flint's life where Flint opened all doors to him.

Instead it was happening in a hospital room and Flint was not here. Silver had never seen her but he saw in her eyes the strength she possessed and he understood how this woman was Flint's companion.

Silver said nothing, waiting for Miranda to say her piece first. He stared at her offering a challenge because even when his mind was dulled with pain he could still recognize a player in her.

"I've come for James," Miranda stated at once and Silver thought it as a weak move if she came to ask in his name that he didn't push him away. "I care for him greatly and he cares for you. He cares for you in a way I've only ever see on him once, in a story you already know."

She approached him and Silver saw she carried a messenger bag that looked heavy.

"I'm leaving," she explained. "I'm going further into the witness protection system, but I'm going alone. James refused. He's staying because of you. In a few days not even James will be able to contact me. So this is my only chance of giving you this."

She took from her bag a book with red leather covers and handed it to Silver who took it with trembling fingers, suspecting what it may have been. The leather was cracked and worn-out. But it was also clean and sturdy, a book that had been read and taken care of. Silver opened the cover and saw what his was both expecting and fearing to find.

A hand-written dedicatory in cursive and black ink.

" _James, my eternal love. Don't fear the past. T. H."_

Even with all the pains pestering his body, Silver was able to feel a sting of jealousy and what was possible heartbreak.

"Why are you showing me this?" Silver asked her without looking at her, his voice tight and angry.

"It isn't the dedicatory where I wanted to focus on. That's a lesson for another time perhaps. It's what you can learn from the rest of the book. James told me you're familiar with it, but when we're at our lowest it's when we most need to be remained of certain things." She smiled sympathetically. "A new read my help you."

Silver looked at Miranda and saw someone who would offer advice but not pass judgement. So he relaxed against the bed and spoke, "I've been finding trouble to find a positive outlook on life, could you help me find it again?"

Right now Silver looked into his future and saw betrayal, heartbreak and loneliness. He saw the shadow of history's hands loom over the present. He saw the empty space left by his leg being filled with darkness. The words of Flint's Thomas resonated in his mind. " _Don't fear the past_ ," but Silver didn't know how.

Miranda sat next to him and took the book from his hands. "I often find myself comforted by this passage," she said and begun to read. "How should you be? You should be like a rocky promontory against which the restless surf continually pounds. It stands fast while the churning sea is lulled to sleep at its feet. I hear you say, 'How unlucky that this should happen to me.' But not at all. Perhaps say instead, 'How lucky I am that I am not broken by what has happened and I'm not afraid of what is about to happen.' For the same blow might have struck anyone, but not many who would have absorbed it without capitulation or complaint."

And Silver listened and was a little less afraid.

.

He opened the computer with care, he felt like he was intruding despite having explicit consent. Gates had hand it to him with a raised eyebrow but had said nothing about it. He had taken the computer to his bedroom, away from the kitchen where Silver had suffered -he had gotten rid of the table already-. Flint wrote the password and once the computer had loaded he found the 'Black Sails' folder.

Inside it was organized in several folders more. Apparently Silver was planning for four books; there was a folder for each of them. He opened the first and it had word documents for each chapter, a folder called sources and a word document named 'plot points'. Flint opened up and saw a bullet list where Silver had wrote down all that was meant to happen in the first book.

It was messy. It seemed to follow a timeline but he went back and forth with the tenses, some words were written in capslock, but it was still readable. So Flint read how Silver described the beginnings of the relationship between Captain Frye and John Gold. Two characters that mistrusted each other, that only stood each other out of shared convenience.

Flint read avidly and then went to the folder of the second book and was pleased to find a similar document. He read about Frye and Gold becoming allies and he wondered if Silver inspired the pirates' relationship in theirs. Was that what Silver wanted him to see? But then he reached the end of the document and his blood turned cold.

Because Silver described Gold's character losing his leg while he was tortured for information. This could be a coincidence, another character had lost a leg before too. But Flint understood what Silver wanted him to see now. So he went back and searched the file of the last chapter.

The full description of the torture Gold endured made Flint nauseous. Had Silver really gone through the same? With each word the room to attribute everything to coincidence became smaller, with each word it became harder to not believe in fate. Eternal recurrence.

When he finished reading there were tears in Flint's eyes, but he had to know more so he went back intended to go to read the third book when he saw another document. 'Frye's backstory'. He clicked on it following a hunch.

He read about Frye's past in the Navy, how a superior introduced him to Harrington. The start of the affair with Marinda and later with Harrington. How Harrington and Frye tried to introduce pardons for the pirates and how Harrington's father opposed it. He read about Frye and Harrington's love being used against them. How Harrington was sent to an asylum and how Frye heartbroken went to Nassau with Marinda to start anew.

Flint's first instinct was to get angry had Silver really used the secret that he had confided in him as inspiration for his book? But before anger could fully possess him, Flint checked the date the file was last modified. It had been written weeks before he ever told Silver about his past with Thomas.

The parallels between Frye's backstory and his own life were obvious. Flint remembered the morning sun entering through a window and a beloved voice saying,  _"see , James, T. H. just like me._ " Flint remembered his nightmares, the blood, the violence, the grief and they made sense in the context of Captain Frye's life.

Eternal recurrence, reincarnation, whatever.

Flint's world was shifting in its axis but he had to keep reading he had to know. So he read the notes for the other two books. These were more incomplete, Silver hadn't gotten so far, his writing and investigation was incomplete. However the gist of it was enough to know how the story ended.

Betrayal and heartbreak.

.

Billy's voice coming from outside his room alerted Silver he had a visitor once more. But Billy stayed outside and Randall entered instead. Randall had a bruise in his forehead but otherwise he looked fine and some of the tension Silver carried slipped away.

However, it wasn't until Randall approached the bed and hugged him that Silver fully relaxed. Silver felt forgiven and contained in that hug. Here he had a friend, a friend that understood him, a companion now more than ever.

And because Silver relaxed in Randall's grip everything he had been bottling up, every experience and traumatic feeling, flooded out. Silver clung with force to Randall while he cried loudly, ugly sobs with strong hiccups. Randall said nothing, he did not judge Silver and only kept a strong hold around him.

Silver cried the pain of a crowbar against his leg, he cried the fear and the impotency. He cried the amputation and the empty space. He cried the new label that would accompany him for the rest of his life and the stigma. He cried the uncertainty of his future and the certainty of the past.

He cried because now he would be ugly. He cried because the morphine was not enough for the pain. He cried because he was confused about Flint. He cried because Randall was his only friend and here he was passing no judgment.

He cried and muffled screams of anger and sorrow on Randall's shirt. And Randall held him.

.

Eventually, his tears had dried up. Randall handed him some water and he tried to compose himself, he rearranged his hair and cleaned the dry tears from his cheeks. He was glad to have done so when moments later Billy entered the room. His eyes were rimmed red, the biggest telltale that he had been crying, if Billy hadn't already heard his not so well muffled sobs. But he could still pretend and he knew Billy wouldn't call out his bluff, not on this.

"Randall, why don't you go and buy something to eat, a snack or something?' Billy said handing a couple of bills to Randall.

The intent was clear, he wanted to be alone with Silver. As soon as Randall left, Silver wanted to avoid any uncomfortable silence, so he rushed to speak.

"I suppose this is where I should thank you," his voice edged with something dry. "Had you come later, I would be know mourning two legs. Had you not come, you'd probably be mourning me."

"You don't have to thank me," Billy argued, and Silver wanted to reply back because he didn't like being indebted to someone. "I don't like you," Billy stated. "I know that you lied to get the job with Randall and I know your type, with a smile and some words you'd benefit from anything."

"That's candid," Silver chuckled.

"I don't like you," Billy continued, "but I don't have to like you. I've told you once that the people on the Walrus are family, and that includes you now. So there's nothing to thank, I did what I would've done for any other brother. Randall cares for you and for what he've told me, his trust on you was warranted." Billy spared one look at Silver's missing leg, "obviously."

The words got caught in Silver's throat. This was exactly what he needed but it was also what scared him. Silver never had anyone to take care of him, he had always been alone since his childhood in the orphanage. He had learned that other people betrayed, abandoned you as soon as they could. Being loyal had always frightened, and his fears had been confirmed with a crowbar. He wanted to run but he was bounded to a hospital bed, any running was buried in his past.

_Don't fear the past._

But how when his leg send him shots of pain as a constant reminder. How when the past proved to be repeating himself. How when every time he had trusted he had been hurt.

_Don't fear the past._

Silver swallowed. He wanted to try.

"Thank you," he said, and he was sincere.

Billy just nodded this time. "We'll have to figure out where you'll live once you get out. You can't go back to Randall's as I'm the one sleeping again in that goddamn couch until we find someone to replace you at your  _job_ ," there was a mocking tone in how he said the last word, and Silver welcomed it, it felt like routine. "Flint told me he has a spare room in his flat, that you're welcomed there."

Silver didn't let his surprise show in his face, a grimace of pain hiding it well. He questioned if Flint had read the drafts and notes of his books. Was this an offer done before or after Flint learned about all the tragedy awaiting them should history repeat itself, an inescapable cycle. And if it did, Silver wasn't sure if he wanted to take the offer.

.

The next morning he had a visit from some of the men from the Walrus, Muldoon, Logan and Joji. They showed their sympathies and tried to cheer him up with the latest gossip from the building. Eventually, Howell came to kick them out, alluding that Silver had to rest.

Then that afternoon, he had the visit he was both most expecting and dreading. The air was charged as soon as he entered. A tension that threatened with either drowning or floating them ashore, and both possibilities were equally enticing. Words were his strong suit, but for once, Silver didn't want to sing his song.

"You're a good writer," Flint said but the compliment felt forced in the silence of the room. Silver didn't answer instead he stared at Flint urging him to continue. Flint swallowed while he sat on the chair next to the bed, this was going to be a painful conversation. "I know why you wanted me to read your work. I didn't want to believe it, it still sounds crazy and impossible. There're things you wrote there that match not only parts of my past that I haven't fully told you about, but also dreams I've had for years. Dreams that weren't exactly nightmares but they weren't pleasant either. They always left me feeling incomplete, like I was missing something. A piece in a puzzle I couldn't solve, and when I read your work, I finally saw the clear picture. Like a gust of wind had cleared the fog and I could finally see the shore."

Flint slumped forward in the chair, rubbing once his hands over his face.

"I know now that what you've written has truly happened. That with what has happened it might all repeat again. That every piece has fallen perfectly and that what awaits for us should all continue to happen isn't pleasant, but would you understand me if I said I don't care?" and there was vulnerability in Flint's voice.

Finally, Silver spoke. "It's easy for you to say, you haven't lost a leg." Silver didn't want to be this aggressive and bitter but just as his body didn't respond to him the same, neither did his emotions.

"This doesn't make any sense," Flint sighed exasperated. "Are we truly believing that we are the reincarnations of some pirates?"

"Reincarnations, or different actors in the same play. You tell me, you're the philosophy teacher," Silver said. "I saw this coming, I feared it when you told me your story with Thomas. I saw the threat of the past there, but I dismissed it, too impossible, too magical. I didn't  _want_  to believe it." Silver finally dared to truly look Flint in the eye. "I wanted  _this_. I did. But this," and he gestured at his missing leg, "this changes everything."

A brief silence settled between them. Flint's expression was pained. "I suppose then that you'll be living somewhere else," and Flint was proud that his voice barely broke, concealing most of the heartbreak he was going through. He was afraid he had lost his siren forever.

"No," Silver said. "If you offer about that room still stands, I'll accept it."

Truth was that if Silver went anywhere else he would be catalogued as the invalid to any new eyes. However, the men of the Walrus already knew him. He was the storyteller, the one that made them laugh with exorbitant tales. He was Randall's caretaker. He was someone. He couldn't give that up, not now.

Flint looked at him surprised, but he didn't hesitate to answer. "It does."

"Then I'll accept, but I have to make this clear," Silver explained. "What we had- what we started- I-" and Silver hesitated, because putting a clear end to it hurt him more than the crowbar ever had. "I can't," he finally exhaled, "not now."

Flint nodded slowly but firmly and Silver wanted to ignore how much it relieved him. He wanted to attribute it to not being willing to give up on the Walrus, but if he was honest with himself, it was because despite everything he couldn't let go of Flint. And despite the words written in a battered book, that was an even bigger tragedy waiting to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this was a sad chapter to write, I just hope I did it justice and y'all like it.  
> Please, comment, comments make me guilty and write faster ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I was once a fortunate man but at some point fortune abandoned me._   
>  _But true good fortune is what you make for yourself."_   
>  _–Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

Silver hated the hospital policy that issued he should be carried in a wheelchair to the door. That was how he was going to go back to face the world once more, in a wheelchair, pushed and manhandled like an invalid. So as soon as they trespassed the door, Silver asked Flint for his crutch.

"Let me carry you to the car, in that," Flint asked even though he knew Silver would refuse. "Howell said it's too soon for a crutch."

"Fuck Howell," Silver said, his tone as bitter as his words. "Give me the crutch."

It was the vulnerability in Silver's eyes, that begged at him, what made Flint cede with a rough sigh. Flint knew all too well about needing walls to hide yourself behind, and though he recognized it as an unhealthy coping mechanism, he couldn't judge. For it was Silver himself who had managed to tear them down. So he would give Silver the space he needed and when he was ready, he would help him tear down his walls too.

Tumbling, Silver managed to stand with the crutch firmly tucked under his armpit. He hated the crutch only slightly less than he hated the wheelchair, but it was far too early for a prosthetic leg. They walked in silence, Flint guiding Silver to his parked car. He opened the door for Silver and he started to turn to help Silver in but he was stopped.

"I can do this alone," Silver complained. But his arms weren't still strong enough and his wound wasn't fully healed. A sudden shot of pain to one of his movements made him fall abruptly into the seat, and he hit his head with the roof. "Fuck!"

"Are you alright?" Flint immediately asked worried.

Silver shot him a glare, what kind of stupid question was that. "I'm fine," he lied, because this was his life now. A constant state of pain. His leg, the back of his head or his heart. What did a little more pain. Silver handed Flint the crutch without looking at him so he could put it in the backseat.

The car ride back to The Walrus was in silence. An ugly tension sat between them, loading the air with something akin to anger, akin to pity. Was this the life that was awaiting for him? Silver wanted to tell Flint to stop the car, that he'd find another place to live. A place away from the shore where there we no ghost of past lives looming their tragedy over him.

Yet Silver couldn't tell Flint to stop, the words got stuck in his throat alongside with the continuous scream of pain. The words got stuck because he needed this. He needed the net of friendships he had carved for himself in the Walrus. He needed Randall's glares and silences. He needed Muldoon's companionship, and Dooley's laughs, the men being swooned at his stories like sailors to a siren. Most importantly, and more frightening, he needed Flint.

He needed Flint's lingering gaze when he thought he wasn't looking, anxious to touch him, to cherish him. A gaze charged with aborted movements. But most importantly, what Silver truly needed of that gaze, was a gaze that held him as his equal. Flint had already been witness to the vulnerabilities in Silver's heart and he had not judged him for it. Now, with this vulnerability on plain sight, Silver needed Flint to look at him and see him unchanged, unperturbed.

But right now there was something tainting Flint's gaze. It made Silver want to run away if he could still run. But it also made Silver determined. He would not stop until Flint saw to him on equal ground, wherever that may be.

When Flint pulled the car in front of the Walrus, Silver saw a handful of the men waiting for them outside the building. Their faces eager to welcome him, to celebrate his return. Silver sighed heavily and turned to Flint with a frown.

"Who planned this?" he asked with a tight voice.

"I told them you wouldn't like it. I tried to convince them to call it off but they wanted to surprise you," Flint said with care in his voice as if he was afraid that Silver would break or he would jump at his throat. Silver didn't know what option was worse. He sighed once more.

"Alright, then, let's go," he said signaling Flint to help him get out of the car.

Flint walked around it, grabbed the crutch from the backseat and opened Silver's door to hand it to him. He saw amazed the transformation that Silver's face went through. From a fatigued angry grimace to a relaxed friendly face. It was only because Flint had lost himself one too many times inside Silver's eyes so he could find in them the true pain.

The men cheered when Silver stood outside the car and Silver's smile became warmer but not more genuine. They took him to Gates' flat in the ground floor where they had organized food and soft music. Almost one by one the men approached Silver to tell him they were glad to have him back and Silver greeted each one of them as if they were all friends. The only difference came when Howell chastised Silver for using the crutch so soon but one glare, albeit friendly, from Silver, silenced the good doctor.

Ten minutes after all the regards were said and done, Silver grew tired of looking around and finally asked. "Where's Randall?"

"Oh, he's in his flat. Billy's looking after him," Muldoon said casually while he continued to eat chips.

Silver smiled fell though he remade it quickly. "Guys, I appreciate all of this really, but I'm very tired and the _doctor_ advised I should rest."

The men groaned and insisted for a while but soon they were accompanying Flint to the elevator. Silver smiled at them and joked with them right until the doors closed. Once again Silver's face transformed. The facade fell and a scowl contorted his expression once more. For the entirety of the ride he did not look at Flint.

Once in the third floor, Silver went directly to Randall's door. Flint made an aborted sound, stopping when he saw Silver knocking at the door. Billy answered.

"Hi, Silver." Billy greeted him, and though the animosity he usually had towards Silver wasn't gone, there was something else there. Respect. "Sorry I didn't came to your welcome party, but I had to look out for Randall."

"I know," Silver said in a tightly polite voice. "I wanted to see Randall to let him know I'm back."

Billy moved aside to let Silver in, and when Silver entering the living room that had once been his bedroom, Randall saw him. He strided towards him, and not saying anything as usual, he hugged him. Silver buried his face in Randall's neck and inhaled deeply, comforted in his best friend's arms. And in that space of calmness he took a resolution, he would make sure Randall wasn't left out ever again.

When they separated, after some long seconds, Silver smiled weakly at him. "I'll see you around, Randall."

Flint had observed it all from the space of the open door. He hated himself for it but he couldn't help but to envy Randall for the softness Silver directed at him. He knew it was unfair, that he shouldn't expect anything from Silver. That he should accompany him in this difficult process. But he couldn't help but to miss when Silver looked at him with something akin to adoration. When Silver wanted and seeked his company. Flint cursed himself for all the times he had pushed Silver away before and wasted time.

Silver said goodbye to Billy and sent a heavy look to Flint while he got out of the apartment. Once the door was closed behind him, he said. "Let's go, already."

Flint took his keys from his pocket. "Here's your copy."

"Thank you," Silver's look was still loaded with things Flint could not fully unravel.

The apartment was clean but when Flint opened the door the air in it felt stagnated and tense. This was a step in their relationship but a step that was mangled by the sway of a crowbar and the thud of a crutch. When Silver entered he stared to the kitchen where his life had shifted more than once. He could feel Flint's presence next to him, observing him, gauging his reaction.

He was taken back to that kitchen counter where he mended Flint's wound and where they had felt each other. But before Silver could miss that warmth and connection, the sound of his own screams pulled him out of that memory and into another. He could still feel the pain in his phantom leg. His chest constricted and he felt as he was being pulled under water. The siren was drowning, even in his state he could appreciate the irony.

A touch on his free arm, buoyed him. It drew him back to the present. He could stand that only slightly more than what he could stand the memories.

"You changed the table," Silver commented because something had to be said.

"Yes," Flint said because there was nothing else to be added that could stand to be said out loud.

_I changed it because I couldn't properly clean your blood from it. I changed it because every time I saw it I was reminded you suffered this because of me. I changed it because it made me want to murder them. I changed it because I didn't want you to see that damn thing ever again. I changed it because that table symbolizes why you and I shouldn't be together._

No, he couldn't say any of that out loud, not even on a whisper of a touch to convey what he felt.

Instead what he said was, "I changed the studio into a room for you."

Gates had helped him. He had given Flint support when he hands were red with watered blood that wouldn't come off and he couldn't help but fall down to his knees broken by sobs that he couldn't held back. Gates had held him and told him to go and take a shower and he had cleaned the blood from the floor and the table. He had then gotten rid of the table, Flint unable to even touch it and had gotten him a new table immediately. He had help him to get his apartment ready for Silver, to move and accommodate everything to make the place as comfortable as possible to Silver. And he had shared a cup of rum almost every single day afterwards, when Flint was deployed of energy and couldn't call Miranda anymore because she had gone into hiding.

Because Flint was also grieving Miranda. They had talked for an entire day after she told him he was going further into witness protection. They both understood and supported each other's decisions. Miranda wanted peace and Flint wanted Silver and a redemption with love. When they separated Flint kissed her softly and regretted that he couldn't take her to bed one last time.

Their relationship had started as fun, two friends seeking pleasure in each other. When Thomas and Flint got together, their relationship had evolved too. Then when they shared a bed, even when not as regularly, there was harmony, there was love. And when they lost Thomas they had found comfort in each other.

That was lost to Flint too now. He wouldn't do that to Silver. They had made promises to each other although not with words but with soft touches and lingering looks. So he only had kissed Miranda softly once before he said goodbye to her for what could be forever.

When he got back to the Walrus the table was still there on the pavement. So he had grabbed the table and throw it against the wall and then used one of its legs to break it. When he was done, when there was no more to break, he cried until Gates found him and let him sleep on Billy's bedroom so he wouldn't spend the night alone.

"Thank you," Silver said and for the first time in a long time, Flint detected a hint of softness in Silver's voice directed at him.

"You're welcome," and his hand that still rested on Silver's arm felt heavy.

"I'm going to bed then if you don't mind, I really am tired," and the lie was transparent for both of them but they let it lay between them.

Before heading to the now bedroom Silver headed to the bathroom first. After closing the door he noticed the metal bars on the shower walls, a symbol of who he was. Silver sat on the toilet and cried silently. This was his life now. Cold metal bars and somebody he loved but he was afraid to have.

.

The stares were the worst. Before Silver had been able to blend in with a crowd and become invisible if he wanted to. But now walking down the university's hallways, every pair of eyes were on him. The sound of the crutch against the floor felt like a bell under his neck.

He could have sent Max to do this. But things between Max and Eleanor were complicated of lately. Many things had happened in the two months Silver had stayed in the hospital. Eleanor's father had had an ischaemic stroke and though he had survived, he was bed ridden, maybe forever. Eleanor had inherited the university and she ran it by herself now. But since then he had stopped paying attention to Max who had then found a new girlfriend. Anne.

As far as he knew, although not happy of it, Jack had accepted it and now the three of them were an item. Good for them, Silver thought, to cling to any happiness while they had the chance. And if he compared them to a similar situation from his book he wouldn't tell them. Why load them with ghosts from the past and tragedies waiting to happen.

He was received by Mr. Scott who let him in after confirming his appointment. The good thing about Eleanor is that she was a professional and unlike his father she wouldn't let personal matters to get in the way of business.

"Hello, Mr. Silver, please take a sit," she greeted him sitting from her desk, her back straight and proud. "I wanted to personally show my solidarity with you for what has happened to you."

"Thank you," Silver said with one of his most charming smiles from the other side of the desk, knowing the convention from what it was. "You know what I came for."

"To renegotiate the deal, Max has told me about how you felt already," she stated, and then she softened. "I was rather hoping you would have changed your mind by now."

"I'm afraid that's not the case," Silver sighed, his fingers tightened on his crutch. "You know what happened to Long John Gold. History is not shy in that regard. He was-" and his voice broke as if he couldn't continue, he looked down as if it was too much to face . "They used an axe on him, instead," he finished and paused, looking up to Eleanor in her eyes. "You understand why I can't keep working with that. It's not something I can keep focusing on, even less write it and share it to the world. "

"I do understand, I hope you also understand that I can't nullify the contract nor I can speak for what Maroon books will say about their part," Eleanor answered. "If we manage to reach some common ground we may however renegotiate our part of the deal. What are your intentions towards the future?"

"I would be grateful if I could keep my place as a researcher in Professor Flint's lab and even more grateful if he didn't lose the funding because of me."

Eleanor smiled. "Rest assured Mr. Silver. My father had personal matters with Professor Flint. I instead value the work he does and was planning to renew his funding as it was supposed to happen regardless of any decision you took." Her expression turned more serious. "However, I'm afraid I'd have to reduce your stipend. The university would have covered that with the publicity you would have given us. I can offer you though, another job to cover that. Since we had to let go of Mr. Singleton, Mr. Dufresne has covered the teaching assistant post but he agreed to do so only temporarily. If you're interested the position could go to you as we encourage our teachers to also work in the field they teach."

Silver swallowed mentally. More time having to spend with Flint on top of living together. He didn't feel like it right now, he was already to caught in him. He didn't know if he could face working with him not only in the lab but also the classroom. Not even accounting for the fact that he knew nothing about teaching as he hadn't know how to care for Randall either.

"Yes, I'd like that position," Silver agreed. He didn't really had a choice, did he? He was and had always been a liar, what did another spot to the tiger.

"Great," Eleanor smiled again, "is there something else I can help you with?"

Once more this was just convention but he was going to take advantage of it.

"Actually yes," and his smile was shy. "I don't like to ask for help so I have an offer to make you. As you may have heard when I was attacked I was not alone. I was caretaker for a friend of mine, Randall, who is neurodivergent. He was there with me when they- I'm alive because of him." Eleanor's face was unreadable while Silver exposed his case. "Because of his _condition_ he can't be alone, he needs someone with him at all times," Silver hated talking like that about Randall but he had a promise to keep. "I can't fulfill that role anymore and I was hoping that the university might provide the medical care for him. Someone with the medical and psychological training to properly care for him. In exchange, I'll make sure the university gets the publicity it would have gotten from me hadn't I been attacked. I'll talk to the press about how charitable the university and their managers are. I'll do as many press notes as it's needed."

Eleanor looked at him firmly. "I thought you didn't want exposure."

"Not as Long John Gold, but as myself, sure, why not?" he corrected with a smile and wasn't that the biggest lie. He would expose as mask but not himself, after all Silver wasn't sure there was a difference between him and Gold anymore.

Eleanor remained silent for a while. "We will provide the medical care for him, on one condition: It won't do if we help him and not you, the university will also provide for your prosthesis when the time comes."

This time Silver couldn't help but swallow visibly. He nodded.

.

It's the second night at Flint's flat. The drive back to the Walrus had been in silence. Flint felt too wary around Silver to actually initiate conversation and Silver was mulling after Eleanor's request and the extra exposure it would require. Later, Flint had prepared fish for dinner and now they were both at the table, the sounds of the cutlery the only thing that filled the silence.

"I've re-negotiated the contract with Eleanor," Silver said because this was work and Flint had to know about it. "She told me she had reestablished your funding."

"She did," Flint confirmed with a slightly nervous edge. "Did you talk about what will you do at the university?" and what he meant to ask was, _"are you going to stay?"_.

"Yes, we agreed I would be able to work with you come next semester," Silver said playing with his fork and the fish in his plate. "She also offered me a position as your teacher assistant."

"Did you accept?" Flint wasn't eating anymore just directly staring at Silver who refused to look up from his plate.

"I did, hope you don't mind," and there was a shyness to Silver's voice that broke Flint's heart.

"Of course, I don't, I-" Flint stuttered, he couldn't go on like this. "Please, John look at me."

But Silver refused.

"John, look. At. Me."

"Is that a command, _Captain_ ," and the reference to Captain Frye was venom that lodged as a dagger in Flint's heart. So Flint used the dagger to open his heart.

"Do you blame me for what happened?" he asked directly, not point in beating around the bush. Not with him.

Silver looked at him angrily for several seconds, until abruptly his anger depleted. His shoulders dropped and Flint saw him as young lonely and suffering man.

"I don't blame you," he said softly like a confession. "I blame fate, I blame myself and them, but not you. I blame the past for acting like a mirror on us. I blame fate that acts like a river and even when we fight against it current, it'll guide us to our ends like the salmon fish. I blame myself because even today I don't want to see it, I can't help but try to fight the current even when I know it's fruitless. And I blame their brutish ignorance, their violence, their sadism. But I don't blame you."

"But you're angry, you must be," and Flint wanted to reach out and hold Silver's hand while they poured their hearts.

"I do," Silver admitted, his eyes shining with tears. "I do because before you I was a selfish man. Before you I truly didn't care for others. But you drew me in since I first saw you, a part of me recognized you then, I think. I couldn't help but open up to you. And now I don't know how to close you out, I tried and I'm trying but I can't keep you out. I can't help but showing you everything. My vulnerabilities, my own darkness, my misery. It's out there for you to see. And that scares me more than the river's end."

Flint swallowed, "John, I-"

But Silver had started and now he couldn't stop.

"It makes me angry that no matter how much I wish for it, I can't drive you out. But I also know that I can show you my anger that I don't have to hide it like I do with everyone else. I know that I can show it to you and you won't run away. And that doesn't make any sense."

Silver said and laughed bitterly, desperately.

"Why?" Flint asked pained.

"Everyone who got a glimpse of my true self did. And you should too. You know as much as I do how this is supposed to end. We should both run away. Though," he looked at his leg, "my days of running are behind."

The weak joke settled and lingered in the silence that followed. The air between them was shifting. By the end of this dinner their relationship would be different.

"I think we have to set something between us," Flint said, the hand over the table toying with its own rings. "You know how I feel about you, and I won't push you. But first and foremost, I need you to know this. I am your friend. You can confide in me, you can talk to me. You know all there's to know about me. And for all it's worth, I won't run. If this is it and you are to be my end, well, I do not fear the river's current anymore."

Silver looked at him in his eyes piercingly, searching for a lie. But Flint had offered him his soul and there was nothing to hide in it. Something in Silver relaxed and when he offered him a weak, shy smile, it was genuine.

They continued eating the food that had gotten cold but neither of them cared. For today, the salmon lived to swim another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a hard chapter to write bc at first I couldn't understand Silver's anger. It took me a while to understand from where he was coming from to be able to write. But alas, here's the chapter.  
> Also at this point Randall was suppossed to be more removed from the story but Silver wanted to see his friend so. Also, ableism is becoming a more important theme in this fic, and writing is weird because you never know where you're gonna end.  
> Alas, the salmons are back!! :)  
> Thank you guys for reading and for putting up with me while we go down this road that this is this fic that honestly it's becoming so much more than what I originally planned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It is only the present moment_   
>  _of which either stands to be deprived:_   
>  _and if this is all he has,_   
>  _he cannot lose what he does not have._
> 
> _-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but here you go

The Maroon Books office was not what Silver expected. On the outside, they were what you'd think of any average-budgeted business building. But once inside, there were libraries and libraries of their published books, desks brimming with manuscripts. It was a barely contained chaos, like letting the forest into your home and using it for your benefit. To the ordinary eye, Maroon Books may seem unprofessional, but to Silver's artistic soul it spoke of creation. It was what art was made of and Silver felt at ease with the mess in there.

However, what he did not feel at ease with was the way the people in the office were looking at him. Max, bless her, had already tried negotiating with them for a way Silver could get out of his contract. But the owner of Maroon Books was a stern woman, she had to deal in a business that was usually reigned by white rich men who controlled the sort of stories that were told. They had spitefully nicknamed her the Queen, to mock a place that they deemed a black woman of humble origins was unworthy of occupying. But she took the name that was meant to mock her and made it her signature. She had to be stern, even when her husband disappeared and left her alone with a company to run and a small daughter. Now, when people called her The Queen it was with reverence.

Least to say, she had not conceded Silver to break the contract. The people in the room seemed to know this and held him as some kind of villain. As if breaking contract was a personal affront to the company. Silver admired the loyalty from its employees but was also affronted by it.

He was guided by a tall man to the top floor, where the big office space was divided by glasses with papers stuck onto them. To a side, through the empty spaces on the glass, Silver saw a beautiful young woman that he recognized as the Queen's daughter, Madeleine Scott. She seemed to notice that she was being looked as she raised her head from what she was reading on her desk and looked at him. Her eyes stern yet soft. And though the connection lasted only through a few seconds until he was in front of the Queen's desk, Silver knew he had found an ally there.

The eyes that were looking at him now were as stern as her daughter's, but did not possess the same gentleness.

"Please, sit down, Mr. Silver," the Queen said, but it was not a gentleness it was a demonstration of strength. To others Silver would have made a show of struggling with his crutch, but this was not the tune he had to play to the Queen. She would not be moved to such displays. He needed to come up with a different strategy but Silver was unsettled. He didn't have the upper hand here, but that wasn't the problem for him. He had talked his way out or in in worse conditions. He was used to being underestimated as well. No, there was something else in this meeting that had him on edge.

"I know the reason you've come for and though I granted you this meeting, my word has not changed. You agreed to a set of conditions when we met and they've have not changed regardless of the unfortunate situations you've been through. I can offer you, in the face of your recovery, a half a year extension, but that's all I can do."

"You have agreed to this meeting, so please, hear out what I have to offer," Silver said. "I'm not asking you to be left empty handed as I do have a counter offer. My work partner, Professor James Flint, has his own set of books planned that have earned second place in the very same context. I work with him, so I would also be able to insert some of my prose into the work if that's what troubles you. He's an excellent professional and should you accept his work you won't be disappointed."

"Tell me, Mr. Silver, even if I were to accept what you offer me, why should I trust your word and not expect you and your partner to break the contract once more," the Queen asked firmly and a part of Silver admire that she did not fall easily into his charm.

Silver sighed. "Unless I lose my other leg, it won't happen. I hate to go back on what I promised like this, but I have to be honest, the books I intended and promised to write were ripped off me with a crowbar along with my leg. It's a trauma I cannot revisit, not even in the form of the written word."

It was a lie, it was not the traumatic experience of losing his leg what kept him apart from any book writing. It was the idea of anyone bearing witness to the past that loomed over him. Exposing it to the world felt both trivializing it and making it real. Maybe that's why he felt uncomfortable on his own skin, unlike the other times he had use his tongue to talk himself out of a situation. This time the truth was too personal.

"I've been in this business for a long time, Mr. Silver, and I have not succeeded by accepting second best," her voice was firm and this was a lost battle. "I've worked with writers for a long time so I know that the word they use for inspiration, is what everyone else refers to as will. So I won't accept lack of will as an excuse from none of my employees, and neither from you," her eyes penetrated Silver, trying to find a crack in his mask, he let her find what she was looking for. Silver knew from experience when a battle was lost, so ye offered her his proverbial throat. "The contract has not changed, Mr. Silver."

Though concerned, Silver was not worried, not really, there was always a way and he was determined to find it. He nodded and extended his hand towards the Queen. "Until next time," he declared with the right combination of defiance and surrender.

His gait was uneven but firm, while he walked out, his mind already working on alternatives. Once outside, he went past the coffee shop next door and a sixth sense made him stop. Inside, Silver observed the Queen's daughter, sitting on a stool alone with a cup of coffee on her hand. Silver smiled, once more, the alternative laid beyond his feet, well, foot now. It was about time he finally met her without a glass wall between them.

He stepped into the coffee shop and asked for a coffee. "Strong, please," he said, his tone carrying enough defeat.

The kid behind the counter prepared him the coffee and then asked him, "Where are you going to sit, sir?"

Something in Silver stirred. "Why?"

"So you don't have to carry it, with your…" and the kid trailed off vaguely pointing at his crutch.

Silver knew it was just a kid, he was just doing his job and trying to be kind. But another part, the part of him that hated to be dependable, couldn't see that. It was a blow, making him lose what little footing he had gained since the incident. To this kid, he was an invalid.

"Unless you do that for every customer that comes here, give me my coffee and I'll take it were it damn pleases me," he replied angrily, trying really hard not to shout at a kid who was working a shit job with minimum pay. He knew also that the scene he was making was to his advantage, that it was a great in to get Madeline's attention, and he tried to work through it, but at the moment, Silver couldn't care much. All he heard was the world invalid playing around in his head.

"Sorry," the kid said, and he seemed honest, but to Silver it was as hurtful as him carrying his coffee. He didn't need pity.

He took the coffee and didn't say anything more to the kid. He sat a few empty stools away from the Queen's daughter, his mind only half paying attention to his plan, still too off-kilter to focus on it.

"Wouldn't a chair be more comfortable," she asked suddenly, looking at him.

Silver looked at her in the eye, and thought that this was what most people confused for love at first sight. In this one look, he saw many things he liked at once. For one, her statement was clear, he wasn't falling for his charade. She was smart, a woman raised by the hardships of the concrete jungle. She was kind, despite knowing his ruse, she didn't judge him for it. But most importantly, she didn't see him as an invalid, someone to be pitied. To her, Silver was an equal, and to Silver, right now, that was everything.

"To be honest, I wouldn't know, I'm still not used to this," he said, which was partially true.

She got up from her seat and moved to the stool next to Silver. She extended a hand to him. "I'm Madi Scott, you just came from a meeting with my mother."

Silver shook her hand and his writer mind took him to another place and time. Suddenly, she was not any longer a business woman, but a real princess, a warrior. A fighter for her people's rights, a seeker of freedom and justice. And Silver was no longer a writer but a pirate caged by her and her people. Completely at her will.

Silver's mind showed him the tale, the words he should use. Silver could see the princess and the pirate falling in love. He could see them joining in a war against civilization and its injustice. Pirates and slaves fighting together, lead by both of them and their captain. But history had not been kind with pirates nor slaves, and the tale had a sad ending.

"My name is John Silver," he whispered, his mind still far away from the coffee shop.

"I figured," Madi said and smiled. Her smile was beautiful and Silver found himself smiling back. The tale ended badly but there were still many pages to go, and Silver wanted to go through them. The heartbreak would come one day, but first he would have his smiles in a coffee shop.

"I take the meeting with my mother did not go well," she said and Silver nodded.

"I've read your file, and I'm interested in why you're turning down the deal. One would think the offer is a hard one to refuse," she said, gazing him appreciably. "I wonder why you did it."

Silver looked at her and wanted to be honest.

"One would think so, but losing a part of yourself is more than just a physical thing. It rearranges everything you believed to be true. I grew up an orphan, a glitch in the system, I had no say in my life until I turned of age. That's why I became a writer. I was the one arranging the words as I pleased. I controlled the story," he paused and look down. "Or so I thought. This took back whatever control I had gained, I'm once more a glitch, something that doesn't fit a pre-arranged system designed for a few."

"Wouldn't writing help you once more?" there was genuine curiosity in Madi's voice.

"Not this time, definitely not this story." Silver looked her in the eye, his face stern, his voice trading carefully. "I'm going to confess something to you, and you'll probably think I'm insane. It most likely won't help my case. But the reason why I can't keep up with this story is this: I wrote about Gold losing his leg while being tortured for information just like I was, but it was with an axe instead of a crossbar; and instead of the Professor's table it was the Captain's desk."

Madi looked at him analysing him, still not seeing the full picture. "It's normal however for writers to channel their trauma through their writing. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that."

"No, Madi," Silver sighed. "I wrote that two months before losing my leg."

Madi say nothing for several seconds. Her coffee laid cold forgotten on the bar. She studied Silver while he held her breath. "I can't say I comprehend your reasons, but I will try to help you come to a different arrangement. My mother will need convincing."

Silver smiled at her. The cogs in his mind already working. "I think I know the right person for that."

In the past, a one-legged pirate begged the princess of an island of escaped slaves to help his men and save them from certain death. He told her that his pirates and her people were both enemies of the same kingdom, that they shared a common goal. The princess said nothing of her offer. But Gold knew that this was a better option than Bones' suicidal escape plan or Frye's quiet defeat.

What Gold didn't know, was where the door he was opening led to.

.

For the first time in these two weeks living with Flint, Silver felt at ease in the kitchen. He wasn't drawn back to the sound of the crowbar on his flesh nor the slippery feel of his blood running hot. He still missed sharing his dinners with Randall, but Silver felt comfortable while he waited for Flint to set the table with the dinner. He had not attempted to cook since the incident, at first too angry to even try, then he deemed it unwise to cook with just one hand. He had been frustrated having to resort to Flint cooking every single time, but not today.

Today, he sat peacefully at the new table while he watched Flint work. He watched his long fingers handle the knife while he chopped the vegetables; the grace he had while moving around, like a dance or a staged fight. Yes, Silver was comfortable sitting in the kitchen, staring at Flint while he worked, feeling a desire he had not felt in a long time.

The meeting with Madi had done him well. It clicked on him everything he was at risk of losing because of his fear of a life that had happened and gone; and a future yet to come. _"Don't fear the past,"_ Thomas had written to Flint once and Silver thought he finally understood what he had meant.

Flint turned to look at him as before Silver wouldn't have gone to the kitchen until he was called. It was a subtle look, with only the hint of a question on it. Silver smiled to him, softly and tenderly. It was like a sunrise on Flint's autumn features when he smiled in response.

Finally, Flint sat next to him setting the dishes with the food. The air between them felt clear, like the softness after a storm.

"How did it went with the Maroon Books?" Flint finally asked.

"On one hand, it was a disaster," Silver admitted. "But on the other…" and he broke into a big smile.

Flint's faced turned. "What happened?"

"The Queen all but refused to hear my proposal," Silver explained.

"Someone who did not wish to hear you talk?" Flint mocked him. "How could that happened?"

Silver laughed. "It has happened to me on occasion, I must confess. Not often but it's bound to happen every now and then. However that's not what's most important of today, I managed to meet the Queen's daughter. She…" Silver trailed off once more and his mind went back to the meeting and his epiphany so he did not notice Flint's distressed look.

"Was she able to help you?" Flint did a good job of hiding the tightness in his voice.

"Yes," Silver said finally looking at Flint once more. "She's going to help me and you to convince her mother. But that's not- something else happened."

Flint stared at his food, playing with it with his fork, unable to swallow more. He didn't know if he wanted to keep listening but he knew that he had to.

"Was she nice?" he asked when what he wanted to ask was, "did you fell in love with her? Were you able to connect with her the way you haven't been able to connect with me lately?"

"She was," Silver answered shortly and he remained silent for long enough that Flint looked up from his plate to his eyes. Silver was looking at him deeply, as if he was seeing more than just him, than just the physical. As if he could reach out to secrets hidden in the fabric of the universe.

"She was my wife," Silver said suddenly.

Of all the things Flint was expecting to hear it definitely was not that.

"What?" he asked perplexed, glad for not having any substance in his mouth at that moment.

"In the life Gold lived, she was my wife," Silver said and he sounded both melancholic and weary.

"How-?" Flint tried to ask but his tongue twisted because what he truly wanted to ask was "where does that leave us?"

"After I left Maroon Books I went to the coffee shop next to it. She was there. I wanted to meet her because I knew she was my best chance for finding an ally at Maroon Books. But when I got to talk to her it came to me. I knew what she had been to me, to you, to us."

"What do you mean?" and there was vulnerability in Flint's voice.

"You read my notes, you know _what_ happens. But now, suddenly, I knew _how_ it plays out. For a moment, I had absolute clarity. I know that I had loved her, at the same time that I had loved you," Silver said, his voice shook a bit while he grabbed Flint's hand over the table. "It's hard to describe, I still think we're fated to repeat the story of Gold and Frye. But I'm no longer afraid it. Or rather, I want to explore what happens in the middle," he said while his thumb caressed Flint's hand.

Flint's face was open to Silver and his eyes shone with such emotion that Silver got teary-eyed.

"When I met Madi I realized I want to explore whatever I can have with her. But also, with you. I don't want that being afraid of whatever can happen in the future keep me from enjoying whatever happiness I can find with you."

A tear was running through Flint's cheek. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," Silver smiled wearily. "But just that, I- I still got other issues to sort through," he said looking down at his shortened leg.

Flint got up without releasing Silver's hand and walked around the table till he was in front of Silver who moved in his seat to face him. Flint bend down while holding Silver's cheek with his free hand, he caressed him softly while he stared lovingly into his eyes. He moved slowly, giving Silver plenty of time to back down.

Their lips connected softly, barely a press. It was more the intention behind it than the actual kiss. Despite the simplicity of it, the kiss was earth shattering to Silver. It was an admission that he was allowed to feel good, that he could take was life was offering in this moment even when it might take it back later. Silver sobbed.

Flint moved back, frightened.

"No," Silver begged, through the tears, "please," he said and grabbed Flint by the neck and pushed him down until their lips met again.

The kiss was more passionate, their tongues slided against each other while their lips moved together. Yet, the kiss was equally tender and loving. Silver kept crying through the kiss but now Flint didn't moved away and instead cleaned away the tears as they appeared. And when they separated to breath, Flint stayed there standing with his forehead pressed against Silver's, his hands on his face, holding him while he continued to cry.

Flint wanted to say what he felt but he knew it wasn't the time for Silver to hear it. So instead he gave soft kisses to Silver's face, removing the tears with his lips.

"Can we move this to the sofa?" Silver asked once he was calm enough to speak.

Flint sat first and let Silver sit next to him on his own. He remained still so Silver could set the pace of whatever happened next. Flint's mind was reeling. He had known jealousy and thought he had lost Silver for good. Hearing Silver confess he was ready to move on and go forward had been a gift. He was willing to share Silver with this Madi woman in whatever way Silver wanted as long as he could have Silver and Silver was happy.

Silver hugged him, laying with his head on Flint's chest so Flint put his arms around him, holding him. They stayed like that for a while, rejoicing in their reconnection. After a while, Silver spoke softly.

"You're going to have to speak with the Queen. I believe you can convince her of accepting a book of the two of us. Madi thinks she's more willing to accept if she can 'know the product she's buying'."

"I'll do it whenever you want to," Flint said and dropped a kiss to the top of Silver's head.

Far away in time, in a dark cage, a pirate recently ascended to quartermaster convinced his Captain to not give up. Gold tried to convince Frye to not continue with his suicidal idea of taking the Queen of the escaped slaves hostage so they could be free. Instead, he should convince her into an alliance against England. To fight the wrongs committed against them, against him. To make England pay for committing Harrington and exiling Frye for loving one another. Gold convinced Frye by admitting to a truth, a truth that with their history should have been impossible. Gold admitted to caring about Frye, to being concerned whether he lived or he died.

So the next day, a war against civilization held by pirates and slaves was going to start. But meanwhile, in that cage at night another fight was starting. A fight against the impossible. For in that cage, a liar and a thief started to fall in love with a pirate captain made of storm, and the captain was loving him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this story is running way deeper than I thought it would be. Both to the story itself, what I have to say and what it means to me.  
> I hope you guys are liking where this story is going.  
> I hope I can write the next chapter faster,  
> Love,  
> Flor


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